


A Song Sweet and Wild

by BeneathTheLight



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: AU, F/M, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:29:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22902718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeneathTheLight/pseuds/BeneathTheLight
Summary: Bill Denbrough meets strangely familiar comedian Richie Tozier at a Hollywood party in 2002.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough & Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips, Bill Denbrough/Richie Tozier
Comments: 58
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've seen a few fics that suggest that Bill and Richie meet at some point between Chapter 1 and Chapter 2. Those usually end before they get the calls from Mike, or right when they get that call. I wanted to draw that idea out a little further. This is canon compliant (drawing from both book and movies, whichever suited my purposes best in the moment) aside from the obvious, and aside from a few things I needed to fuss with to make it make sense.

**April 2002**

Parties in general had never really been Bill's cup of tea. Even back in college when partying was almost a requirement he'd usually managed to avoid them. He remembered his freshman year roommate dragging him reluctantly to a few parties with the promise that it was going to be laid back, just a few people, and it didn't matter if he didn't know anyone because that's what parties were for, right? Those nights always ended with Bill sitting alone in a corner with a beer, watching the dozens of other people all having a good time. That roommate flunked out after freshman year and after that Bill resolved that anything more than small gatherings of his own friends was off the table. He'd managed to keep that promise to himself ever since. Until, that is, he met Audra.

Bill was gracious enough to allow for the obvious differences between random college frat parties and the swanky affair Audra had talked him into attending. For one, instead of sitting on the floor beside a dude passed out in a bean bag chair, he was sitting at a lovely little wrought iron patio table next to a fountain. Instead of the cheapest beer in the entire city he was sipping from a flute of expensive champagne. Instead of being dressed like drunk teenagers, the attendees were wearing expensive formal designer clothing. Despite the change in all these details, the picture was essentially the same. Bill was still sitting alone in a secluded corner, drinking and watching everyone else have a good time. And it wasn't even like he wanted to be out there, mingling with the rich and famous. All he really wanted was to be almost anywhere else. He was wondering how he'd gotten himself into this again when a gorgeous red haired woman in a sparkling green gown came and sat down next to him. 

"Why did I know I'd find you hiding in a corner?" she asked, cheeks dimpling in a teasing smile.

_Oh right. That's why._

"I told you I hate these things, Audra. I'm not like you. I can't just float around a room full of strangers and be charming and witty."

"So you think I'm charming?" She seemed to glow with the compliment and Bill couldn't resist pulling her close for a kiss. They'd been together for about four months and Bill was starting to think he might have finally found the right person.

"Can you imagine any other way you'd have gotten me to come here tonight?" he asked as he pulled back.

"Really though, Bill. You are perfectly charming and witty when you loosen up a little--"

"You mean when I'm drunk," he amended. She ignored him.

"--and you've got a New York Times bestseller. _And_ you're currently surrounded by at least a dozen people who could help get a movie adaptation off the ground. You want that, right?"

Bill honestly had never thought much about it. It sounded like a fantastic idea but never in his life had that been a goal. "That'd be great, but--"

"So get out there and schmooze!"

"Schmooze?" He sat back in his chair. Audra was leaning in, fierce in a way she only got when she started talking about her ambitions. She'd expanded that passion and ambition to Bill when they'd started dating. It made him want to kiss her again. It also made him tired, and this time tired won. "I pay my agent to schmooze for me."

It was Audra's turn to slump back in her chair. "You can't rely on your agent for everything. If you have a chance to make good connections you'd be a fool not to!"

"I rely on my agent for business stuff. Movie deals are business stuff, I don't know shit about that. I’m not a _fool_, Audra. But I'm a writer and that's all I really care about being." 

She sighed. "Well at least come sit up front with me," she said. "Stuart's saving us some seats up front at his table near the stage. That comedian he hired is supposed to be starting soon."

Stuart was the head of the company that managed Audra and the party was at his Los Angeles estate. He'd made much of the up and coming comedian he'd hired to perform, someone whose name had set off a vague recognition in Bill but whose face he could not conjure up. Most likely he'd caught part of an interview or maybe even seen a clip of his work somewhere. Still, the curiosity was enough to get him to allow Audra to take his hand and lead him up to the table in front of the makeshift stage. 

"Bill! So good to see you!" The best description Bill had ever been able to come up with for Stuart was 'well-preserved.' He was at least seventy and keeping a lot of plastic surgeons in business in his quest to seem no more than forty. It wasn't working; in Bill's opinion that sort of thing never worked. No one ever looked younger, they just looked like an old person unable to accept reality with dignity. Worse, though, was that he was the kind of person who was smarmy and condescending at best to everyone he felt somehow superior to. Waiters, service staff of any kind, anyone who didn't work in the entertainment industry and most people who did. In short, anyone who he didn't feel he could make a profit from somehow. If he did feel he could profit from someone, he was a cloying sycophant. It made Bill crazy. But Audra fell solidly into the latter definition, and he didn't want to do anything that would sour her relationship. 

"Good to see you too, Stuart," he said, settling into a chair beside Audra.

"Having a good time? Is our resident superstar here introducing you around?" There was a look about him that suggested he'd noticed Bill's self imposed isolation.

"Of course." Bill took Audra's hand and kissed it. "Audra takes every chance she can get to force me to get out from behind my computer and talk to actual human beings. It's very charming."

She smiled, though Bill thought it seemed a little forced. "Writers," she said and gave Stuart a long suffering sigh. "They get so in their own heads! Someone has to shake them up now and then."

"Well, we have some quality entertainment lined up," Stuart said. He waved a hand toward the side of the stage where two men were standing, talking quietly but, Bill thought, rather intently. One was tall and lanky, with unruly black hair. Bill mostly couldn't see his face at his angle. The other man was shorter and dressed in a suit. The conversation seemed intense and the taller man seemed frustrated. He must be this comedian, Bill thought, and as he watched, the man turned his head just slightly and reached up to adjust his glasses. Something about the movement hit Bill like a lightning bolt, the sense of recognition so strong that he inhaled sharply and squeezed Audra's hand.

"Hon, you okay?" She was frowning, real concern on her face.

"Sure, yeah. I just--what did you say this comedian's name was again?" He tore his gaze from the man and looked at Stuart.

"Richie Tozier. I haven't seen his act myself but my assistant swears he's one of the hottest up and comers in the industry right now. Have you heard of him?" 

"No, I don't--I'm not sure, actually. He seems familiar."

They turned their attention to the stage. Richie Tozier was introduced and he took the stage to polite applause. The feeling that he knew this man somehow only got stronger, so disorienting that he couldn't even pay much attention to what he was saying. It didn't take long, however, for Bill to realize that Richie was bombing, hard. He wasn't necessarily unfunny; he could think of several college friends who would be pissing themselves at his crude jokes, largely about sex, masturbation and dicks. But that was the problem. The upscale audience before him was nothing like a bunch of college kids. He was willing to bet that a lot of them thought it was funny but none of them would admit it.

Audra leaned over and whispered in Bill's ear. "This guy sounds like a real creep."

Bill couldn't disagree, but it felt wrong. He'd never met the man but for some reason he couldn't shake the feeling that he was playing a part, putting on a persona for the sake of the audience. Something just didn't fit. "It's just an act."

"And you know this how?"

He shrugged. "Just a feeling."

"Well I know that whole thing about a model girlfriend is bullshit," she muttered.

"Some women like funny guys."

"My point stands."

Richie was saying something. Bill didn't even know what it was but he'd dropped into an accent, a weird bastardization of a southern accent that few would call accurate but resonated somehow. It was funny, at least to Bill, but it also reminded him of something he couldn't quite pinpoint. Abruptly he barked a laugh and had to resist the urge to slap a hand over his own mouth. It was so quiet that it was easy to forget he was _meant_ to be laughing. He could feel Audra and Stuart looking at him, startled. Richie was looking at him, too, and Bill might have imagined it but it seemed his shoulders dropped just a little. He grinned.

"What the hell do you know, we do have a live one out there!" He walked across the stage to stand in front of Bill. "What's your--"

The world seemed to slow down when they made eye contact. Bill wasn't quite sure what he was feeling, but he suddenly had a flash of what felt like memory of riding a bike down the middle of a street on a sunny summer day. Richie seemed to be feeling it too, whatever it was. His grin had faded and he looked like he'd just been punched in the stomach. Bill suspected he didn't look much different.

"Uh, well listen folks. One thing I learned a long time ago is to quit while I'm ahead. I consider that guy a win," he pointed at Bill. "So, goodnight, have a good time and don't do anything your plastic surgeons wouldn't want you to do."

Bill watched him walk off stage. As he passed his earlier companion he held his arms out in a gesture Bill felt sure meant _well, what the hell did you expect? _

Stuart huffed angrily. "If that is what passes for comedy these days we are all in trouble. Excuse me, Audra darling. I have an assistant to fire." He stood to walk away, only seeming to remember Bill at the last minute. "Bill," he said with a nod. 

"Wow," Audra said. Bill hmmed noncommittally. He scanned the crowd and spotted Richie Tozier and the other man -- Bill assumed he was a manager -- disappearing into the house. He hesitated only a moment.

"I'll be right back," he said. Without waiting for Audra to respond he got up and headed for the house. It didn't take him long to find Richie and his manager just inside the front door engaged in what looked like a heated conversation with none other than Stuart. Rather, the manager was. Richie was leaning back against the wall, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, trying his best to look unaffected. Bill could see the tension in him, the slightest narrowing of the eyes, the hands-in-pockets stance that was surely meant to convey nonchalance but somehow to Bill radiated tension. All tiny little details that he really had no business being able to read in a complete stranger.

"--not paying for that punk shitting all over the stage and then walking off," Stuart was saying. He was exactly the type of guy who'd try to get out of paying, Bill thought, and rolled his eyes. He looked at Richie again and realized he'd been caught. The tension in his face had lessened and he was clearly fighting a smile. Bill couldn't help but smile in return.

"It doesn't work like that, asshole," his manager was saying. "You signed a contract. We fulfilled our end of it. Not our fault if that stick in your ass hurts too much for you to appreciate my client."

Bill grinned, and Richie's mouth quirked up, just a little. Stuart immediately turned on him. "You think this is funny, you no talent hack?"

"Yeah. I think it's fucking hilarious that you got bit in the ass by not bothering to check out the entertainment you hired for your own party before you hired it. It's hysterical that while your friends might not think I'm funny, they are wondering what the fuck is wrong with you for hiring me. It’s sad, though, that some poor bastard just trying to make a living will probably be fired because you're too lazy to do your own work."

"Get the fuck off my property," Stuart snarled, then turned and stalked away. He didn't even look at Bill.

"Great job, Richie. You know, if you would just--" the manager broke off, noticing Bill for the first time. "Who the hell are you?"

"Steve, go on out. I'll be there in a minute and you can bitch at me all you want." Richie barely glanced at him as he spoke, his eyes fixed on Bill.

"Seriously man, you can't--"

"I'll be out in a minute," he repeated, finally turning to glare at him.

"Five minutes, Rich. That asshole _will_ call the cops if we don't go." He threw one more exasperated look at Bill and hurried out, mumbling "Jesus Christ" as he went.

Richie turned back to Bill. "He thinks I want to fuck you," he said. Bill laughed a little, surprised. The feeling he was wrestling with wasn't attraction, though he thought a little guiltily that it might not take much to turn that direction.

"Do you?" he countered, and Richie smiled.

"Thanks, by the way. For laughing." The smile turned a little bitter. "I mean I've been heckled a lot and and I can take that. But that stony fucking silence..." he shook his head. "That’s unnerving."

"Wasn't your crowd," Bill said with a shrug. He didn't miss the fact that Richie had avoided his question but it seemed best to let it go. "Stuart's an asshole and so are most of his friends."

"Well you were sitting with him. That make you an asshole?"

From anyone else Bill might have taken offense. Something about this guy, though...he grinned and held up his hands in surrender. "Did you see the woman next to me? She wants me to sit with the biggest dick in LA, I'm doing it."

Richie laughed. "Point taken."

The feeling of familiarity was like a thorn in his side. "Look, I know this is weird and might sound like a sad pickup line but, I mean, have we met before tonight? Because I swear you are so--"

"Familiar," Richie finished for him and nodded. "I know. Been driving me crazy since I got a good look at you but I can't come up with anything."

Steve poked his head back inside. "Richie, man come on!"

"You should go before he really does get you arrested for trespassing or some bullshit. It wouldn't be beneath him, trust me."

"Sure, you're right." He hesitated a minute, then awkwardly stuck his hand out. "Good to meet you..."

Bill realized he hadn't even told Richie his name. The feeling that he knew this man was so strong it hadn't even occurred to him that it was necessary. 

"Oh. Bill Denbrough." As he spoke he realized with some horror that he'd taken Richie's hand and started to pull, as if to give him a hug. Even stranger, Richie's hand had drifted to his upper arm as if he'd had the same notion. They both dropped their hands abruptly. 

"Okay, well. I should go." He half turned toward the door and hesitated. "Maybe we could keep in touch?"

He didn't offer any explanation. Bill didn't need one. "Yeah, that sounds great." He pulled a small notebook and pen out of his pocket and Richie laughed.

"Seriously, you carry around a notebook?"

"I'm a writer, of course I do. You never know when I might get an idea." He scribbled down his name and number and held it out. 

Richie took it. "Thanks, Big Bill. I'll give you a call sometime."

"Big Bill?" 

Richie shifted uneasily. "Hey, a guy an dream, right?" Then more seriously. "I really don't know why I said that."

"No, don't worry." Bill said. "It's fine."

"Okay. Good to see--uh, meet you, Bill."

"Yeah. See you around."

* * *

"I just really don't see what you could possibly have in common with that guy," Audra said later that evening. They'd left the party at last, earlier than Audra wanted but far far later than Bill wanted. She hadn't been thrilled that he'd been so determined to be friendly to someone who'd gotten so thoroughly on Stuart's bad side. Still, she'd come up to his apartment with him and was padding barefoot around his bedroom, glittering gown traded for a short black silky nightgown that she knew he was particularly fond of. She'd been trying to get a story about Richie Tozier out of him ever since they left the party. Bill wasn't sure how to make her understand that there was no story to tell. 

"I don't know what to tell you," he said, slipping an arm around her as she settled down next to him on his bed. "It was really strange. It just felt like I knew him somehow but couldn't figure out how. And he seemed to feel the same way. It's just one of those things that happen sometimes. A connection. Haven't you ever gotten that with anyone?"

"Well, there was a guy once. Writer. Cute. Big blue eyes. I felt like I had a pretty good connection with him." 

"That guy?" Bill eased her closer and pressed a kiss onto her shoulder. "Not sure that guy is good enough for you."

"Hey, I decide that, not you."

"Yes, ma'am." He kissed her again. It wasn't exactly a joke. Bill had no real idea why Audra, an actual movie star, had taken an interest in a writer with a truckload of short stories and one novel with potential but little else on the horizon, but she had. He was planning on showing her just how happy he was about that fact when his phone rang, loudly and insistently.

"Let it go to voicemail," she said, pressing closer against him.

He was tempted but something in him nagged at him to answer it. Gently he disentangled himself from her. "You're the one who's always telling me to be more proactive."

"Answering your phone isn't being proactive!" she complained, but subsided when he answered the call. 

_"Bill? It's Richie. Uh, Tozier. From that god forsaken soiree tonight?"_

"Right, Richie.“ He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. ”Did you make it out of there before getting arrested for loitering or whatever?" He glanced at Audra. She was sitting back against the headboard, watching him with raised eyebrows. On the other end of the line, Richie was laughing.

_"Barely, I think. That fucker was glaring at us from a balcony with a phone to his ear as we left. Probably for show but we weren't taking any chances. Especially since I might have mooned him before I got in the car."_

Bill knew he shouldn't laugh. It was silly and juvenile and Stuart was exactly the kind of prick who'd try to charge him with public indecency even if he knew it'd be pointless. So, of course, he laughed until tears streamed down his face. "Jesus. I'd have paid good money to see his face."

_"He called Steve immediately and started threatening me with indecent exposure charges. Steve spent half the ride explaining that there was no way that would come to anything, and the only thing it'd do would be get me a lot of publicity. So I'm probably good."_

"Well that's a relief," he said, settling back into the pillows. Beside him, Audra sighed and picked up a book she'd been keeping on Bill's bedside table. Bill glanced at her apologetically, and she waved her hand at him with a smile. "Hey Richie, can you hang on a second?"

_"Sure."_

He held the phone away and whispered. "I'm sorry, I'll make it quick."

Audra shook her head. "Honestly you're kind of cute. Like a little kid that found a new best friend. I give up, you talk to your new bestie. I'll be here later."

Bill leaned in and kissed her. "I'll at least give you some peace and quiet. I won't be long, I swear." He got up and went into the living room, pulling the bedroom door shut behind him. "Still there?"

_"Yeah. Listen, if I'm interrupting anything that's okay. I just don't sleep very well after horror show gigs like that and -- oh shit you were with that gorgeous redhead! Fuck, man, I'm so sorry."_

"No, don't be. She's reading, which means she'll be asleep any minute now." He should feel guilty. He should tell Richie he needed to go and go pay attention to Audra. But he didn't think it'd hurt to talk for just a few minutes longer.

_"You sure?"_

"Yeah, I just had to get out of her hair." He settled on the couch and pulled the blanket he kept there for Audra over him. "So, do you often have horror show gigs like that?"

* * *

_"--I never did find my pants but I did find a whole lot of respect for Long Island Iced Tea."_

Bill tried to stifle a cackle, mindful that Audra was in the other room, but it was a sorry attempt. "Jesus, I thought I had some crazy times in college. Did you ever find time to actually go to a class?"

_"Are you kidding? I graduated magna cum laude. Bachelor of Arts in Theater and Performative Studies at University of Chicago."_

"Seriously?"

_"People are always surprised because I devote so much time and energy to being a dumbass in my day to day life."_

"That would throw them off a little," Bill replied. He glanced the clock and winced. He'd been talking to Richie for nearly two hours. Audra had probably long since fallen asleep. "Shit. I really have to go. Audra is going to kill me."

_"Sorry. I should have let you go when I realized you were with her."_

"No, I'm glad you called. I can't remember the last time I laughed this much, honestly. It's been great talking to you."

_"It's good to know someone thinks I'm funny. Your fancy Hollywood friends didn't. And I really liked talking to you too. Beats the hell out of drinking myself to sleep, for sure."_

"Okay, first of all the only person there that could be considered my friend was Audra. And second..." he trailed off, not sure how much more he should say.

_"And second?"_

Bill sighed. "Don't do that, okay? You can always call me. Any time. I'm a writer, I keep weird ass hours. Your chances of catching me awake are really good."

Richie laughed, a little uneasily._ "The weird thing is I probably will. What the fuck is it about you that makes me feel like I've known you my whole life?"_

"No idea but it's not just you."

_"Cool, well, I'm going to hang up now before I start overthinking and freak myself out and have to call you back in five minutes so I don't drink myself to sleep. Go wake up that pretty redhead. Apologize on my behalf for the delay."_

By the time Bill made it back into his bedroom, it had been nearly 2 1/2 hours. Audra was asleep and there was a book lying open on her chest. Gently he picked up the book and laid it on the bedside table beside her. He found a piece of paper and scribbled a note. _So sorry. I'll make it up to you....I'll make pancakes in the morning? Love you._ He tucked the note into the book so that it hung over the edge of the table where she'd be sure to see it, turned off the lamp, and got into bed. Audra stirred, just enough to turn and tuck herself sleepily against him. Maybe, he thought as he drifted off to sleep, parties weren't so bad after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill asks a very important question.

Bill smoothed down his tie and gave himself a critical once over in the mirror. He’d only recently started bothering with things like having suits tailored after months of Audra badgering him to at least try to look like a successful bestselling author instead of a dad taking his family out for a nice dinner at Olive Garden, and he had to admit that she’d been right. He didn’t like to spend a ton of money on things like that; just because he’d had two bestsellers didn’t mean it would keep happening that way. But it had been worth it. He twisted around to get a look from all angles. He usually didn’t care but that night was special. He wanted everything to be perfect.

“Like what you see there, soldier?”

Bill grinned and turned to the door. Richie lounged against the door frame, watching him with a smile.

“I mean, I’m trying to.” He turned back to the mirror and scowled. “I cannot get this fucking tie to lay right. Damn it.”

Richie pushed off from the door and walked into the bedroom. “Dude, that’s because you’ve got it all—here,” he said, swatting Bill’s hands away. He untied the knot and began again. “How have you gotten to this place in your life without being able to tie a tie?”

“I can tie a tie, Richie.” A raised eyebrow was his only response. “I can! I’m just nervous.”

“Okay,” Richie agreed, sounding unconvinced. He gave the tie a final adjustment and stepped back. “There. Perfect.”

It was, Bill had to admit it. “Thank you. How is it you can do that better than me? I can’t believe you’ve ever worn a tie.”

“I guess I did when I was younger,” he said. “I don’t really remember when I learned. I feel like this is the sort of thing a person has just always known how to do and it’s more surprising that you can’t, frankly.”

“Should I shave? I should shave, shouldn’t I.” He frowned into the mirror.

“No, don’t shave. You have such a baby face and that’s adorable and all but you’re proposing. You don’t want to look 14 years old. Which reminds me why I’m here. Don’t forget this.” He took a red box from his pocket and handed it over.

“Thanks for holding on to it for me.” Bill had bought the ring weeks ago but was so worried that Audra would stumble across it when she was there that he’d given it to Richie for safekeeping. He slipped the box into his pocket and glanced at his watch. “Shit, I need to get going. How do I look?”

Richie smiled. “Dashing. Debonair. Handsome as fuck. Do that eyebrow thing and you’ll look like a Bond villain. No, seriously. You look amazing. I can’t believe my Billy is getting married.”

Bill rolled his eyes. “She hasn’t even said yes yet.”

“She will, she’d have to be crazy not to.”

“Not so sure about that, Rich, but I appreciate the vote of confidence.” He patted his pocket to make sure the ring was there. “Okay,” he said glancing around. “Okay.”

“Come on, man,” Richie said. “You have everything, you look amazing. Let’s do this.” He threw an arm around Bill’s shoulders and steered him out of the room. “Time to go, you’re going to be late.”

The sun was starting to set as they walked out of the house. Bill walked Richie out to his car and before he could get in, pulled him into a hug. Richie’s hugs always felt good, and Bill held on for a little longer than usual. He wondered briefly, as he sometimes did, what might have happened if he’d met Richie before he’d met Audra, then put that thought away. He hadn’t, and Richie was his best friend. Finally he pulled back. “Thanks for everything, Richie.”

Richie smiled and patted his cheek. “Anything for you, Big Bill. Now go get your girl.”

* * *

The restaurant Bill chose was the kind of place often frequented by celebrities; expensive, high profile, and very formal. Audra raised a skeptical eyebrow when he told her where they were going, but once he convinced her that he really had gotten reservations she smiled and assured him it would be wonderful. _The perfect place to celebrate_, she’d said. That was the excuse he’d used, that he wanted to take her out to celebrate his second book being adapted into a movie. With Audra herself starring, of course. It’d seemed like a lame excuse to him; he was happy that his books were being made into movies but it wasn’t as important to him as she seemed to think it should be. 

Regardless, she was right. Bill wasn’t a fancy restaurant kind of guy and every time he found himself in one he felt awkward and out of place. Still, the dinner went well. The food was divine, if outrageously expensive, as was the even more outrageously expensive wine. Audra sparkled as brightly as ever; if Bill was out of place, Audra was in her element. By the time dessert came, Bill was almost too nervous to eat. 

“Bill,” Audra said, watching him poke at what was no doubt an exquisite chocolate souffle, “what is all this, really? And don’t say it’s about the movie deal. I know you better than that. This place is wonderful but it isn’t the way you’d want to celebrate anything.”

“Can’t I just want to treat my gorgeous movie star girlfriend?”

“Bill,” she said reprovingly, though she smiled. “Come on. You’ve been acting weird all night and it’s more than how uncomfortable I _know_ you are in a place like this.”

“Okay,” he said, and took a deep breath. He’d been over and over this moment in his head, even making poor Richie let him practice what he was going to say on him, but it didn’t seem to have done him any good. “I’ve just been thinking a lot lately. About a lot of things. Mostly about how lucky I am to have you in my life. How much I love you.” He wondered briefly if he should get up and get down on one knee, but immediately rejected the idea as far too awkward in the middle of a restaurant. He took the box out of his pocket, opened it, and set it down on the table in front of her. “So, I just wanted to ask. Will you marry me?”

Stunned was not sufficient to describe the look on Audra’s face. She stared down at the ring as if she didn’t know what it was. Bill’s heart was pounding so hard he was sure everyone in the restaurant could hear it.

“Bill,” she said at last, and she sounded like she couldn’t quite get enough breath to speak. “It’s beautiful.” She took the ring from the box and slipped it on her finger. “It’s _perfect_.”

Bill sagged in relief. “I’m so glad you like it,“ he said. ”I wasn’t sure. Richie thought I’d lost my mind. I dragged him to every jeweler in Los Angeles. But I wanted to make sure it was right.“

She’d looked up at him as he spoke, and something in her expression changed. She looked back down at the ring. “I want so much to say yes.”

“Then…then say yes,” he said. Something had shifted in the last minute or so. He didn’t understand it and he didn’t like it.

For a long time she looked at the ring. Then, slowly, she took it off. “I can’t.”

The shock of her refusal hit him like a lightning bolt. She held out the box and he took it with shaking hands.

“I’m so sorry,” she began, and he shook his head. “No, listen to me. I am. I love you, Bill.”

“Then why--"

“This is my fault. I let this go on when I knew a long time ago that it should have been over. I just didn’t want to let you go.” She looked completely heartbroken. Bill could see the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. 

“You’re not making any sense. Why would you—I don’t _want_ you to let me go.”

“Richie,” she said. He waited for her continue, but when she didn’t he shook his head.

“What about Richie? What does he have to do with this?”

“Honey,” she said gently, as if she were breaking unpleasant news to a child, “you love him.”

“What? Of course I do, he’s my best friend. I thought you did too.”

“I do! Richie is a great guy.” She smiled a little. “My first impression of him wasn’t great but I can admit that I was wrong. But you…you love him. You’re in love with him.”

Bill couldn’t believe what was happening. “Audra I’m in love with you. I love _you_. What—where is this coming from?”

She shrugged. “I know you, Bill. Better than I’ve ever known anyone. There’s something special there. Anyone can see it. I know you love me. I don’t doubt that. But if you sit there and try to tell me you’d have ever given me a second glance if you’d met him first — ”

She was uncomfortably close to the thought he’d had that very day. “I didn’t meet him first. There are a lot of things that could have happened that meant we never met or never got together, but those things didn’t happen. This happened.”

She smiled sadly. “If he opened his arms you’d fall into them without another thought.”

“He wouldn’t,” Bill said, and immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say. “_I_ wouldn’t!”

“No,” she agreed. “He wouldn’t. And neither would you. Not while I’m here. I’ve known for a long time that eventually I’d have to get out of the way. I should have done it already, saved us both some pain. But I was selfish. I can’t be selfish anymore. I can’t marry you, Bill. I want to. It might even be good, for awhile. Sooner or later, though…” She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

Bill had no idea what to say. Of all the ways he thought this evening might end, Audra saying no because she thought he was in love with Richie had never crossed his mind. Sure, he’d had the occasional thought that he and Richie might, under other circumstances, have been able to have something. But those weren’t the circumstances. It all felt like a bad dream.

“I…I guess that’s it then,” he said quietly.

“We should probably go.”

They settled their bill and waited silently for the valet to bring their car. Bill wanted to say something, to break the awful silence that had settled between them, but there was nothing left to be said. Neither of them spoke again until Bill turned into Audra’s driveway.

He’d almost moved in with her once. They’d talked about it often, but ultimately neither of them had been ready to give up their own space. Maybe that should have been a clue.

“Walk me up?”

Bill nodded and got out of the car. After only a moment of hesitation, she slipped her arm into his. It felt so natural, so right, walking arm in arm with her up to her door. He couldn’t quite accept that it would be the last time. They stood in front of the door, uncertain. Neither of them were willing to be the one to break the silence and end the evening, and so much more, at last. Finally Bill couldn’t take it any longer. He took his keys from his pocket and worked the house key she’d given him off the ring.

“I guess I won’t be needing this anymore,” he said as it handed it to her. She stared at it for a moment before nodding and accepting it. Then she returned his key without a word. 

“Jesus,” she muttered, and abruptly threw her arms around him. She was shaking and it was everything he could do to keep himself under control. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and that was as close to an acknowledgment of how right she might have been as he was capable of getting.

“Me too,” she said. She pulled back and brushed ineffectually at the tears on her face. “Do you want me to withdraw from the movie?”

“What? No. No, of course not. We don’t have to be like that.”

She gave him a tremulous smile. “No, we don’t.” She put her hand on the door handle and took a deep breath. “Goodbye, Bill.”

“Goodbye, Audra.”

* * *

Going back to his big empty house was not an option. He’d bought it earlier that year, expecting that in a year’s time he’d be sharing it with his new wife. With that illusion shattered he couldn’t quite bear to go back there right away. Instead he drove around LA for awhile, and when he finally came to a stop it wasn’t in his own driveway, but the parking lot of Richie’s apartment building. Richie was home; he knew that much from the battered mid 90s model Mustang that he loved like it was his own child parked just in front of him. It was well past 1 am. He was probably asleep. It would be the height of selfishness to go pounding on his door in the middle of the night. Then again it wouldn’t be the first time one of them had woken the other up at some god forsaken hour of the night, and for lesser reasons.

The sound of approaching voices interrupted Bill’s argument with himself. He couldn’t see them yet but his window was down and he could hear every word as clearly as though they were in the car alongside him. 

“—weren’t rushing me out the door like your dirty secret, I’d give you an encore performance.”

Laughter followed, laughter that was unmistakably Richie’s. “I know, and I’m sorry to miss it but I told you I have a meeting early tomorrow.”

Well, that was a lie. Bill knew Richie’s schedule as well as he knew his own. Then suddenly the two men appeared around the back corner of the car parked next to Richie’s. He was wearing sweats and an old t shirt and his hair was all over the place. The other man was fully dressed and had a set of car keys in his hand. All either of them had to do to see Bill was turn their head. He froze, hoping if he didn’t move at all the darkness would keep him from being discovered. The man rolled his eyes. “Who has meetings on Saturday morning?”

Richie shrugged. “Show business, baby.”

“Right, because you’re a huge star.”

“Some day I’ll be hosting Saturday Night Live and you’ll get to tell all your friends how you got your dick sucked once by Richie Tozier.”

Bill could _not_ believe what was happening. What a night.

“Just once? I’d like to see you again.” He pressed Richie up against the car and kissed him, dropping his keys on the hood of the car with a clatter. Bill was starting to see how Richie’s hair got into the state it was in as the other man reached up and dragged his hands through it. For his part, Richie seemed to love it. When the man stopped kissing his mouth and started on his neck, Richie dropped his head back, smiling up at the sky. And then it happened. He turned his head, just a little, and their eyes met.

Bill gave him the most apologetic look he could manage. Richie’s eyes widened comically. He pushed the other man away and turned him so that his back was to Bill, who took the opportunity to sink as low down into his seat as he could.

“I’d love to continue that thought but I really do have a meeting tomorrow. I’ll probably be around the club next weekend. And you have my number, right?”

The man sighed and nodded. “Okay, okay. I’m going.” He retrieved his keys and started his car, the one parked next to Richie’s. Bill was glad he’d taken the chance to hide a little because the interior of his car was fully illuminated by the headlights. Richie made himself a barrier as much as he could, and stood watching him drive away until he was out of the parking lot and out of sight. Then he turned to Bill.

“Dude! What the fuck!”

BIll couldn’t help it, he started to laugh. “Sorry, I didn’t know I was stumbling into a gay porn movie.” He straightened up in his seat. “I hope I didn’t ruin things between you and Rod Steele over there. Or was it Lance Wood? No? Dick Johnson?”

Richie snapped his mouth shut and without another word, turned and started walking back to his apartment. Still giggling, Bill got out and followed him. “Come on Richie, what was his name? Dildo Baggins? ” He followed Richie up the stairs and through his front door, tossing out the most ridiculous names he could think of. “Merry Dandyfuck? Hand Solo? No, that can’t be right, no one was solo here tonight.” By the time they got the door shut and locked behind them, Richie was fighting a smile.

“Who’s the comedian here, Denbrough?”

“Apparently right now, me. OOH I know, was his name Lick Dickwalker?”

That did it. Richie bent double in laughter. “Fuck you man, that doesn’t even sound like Luke Skywalker,” he wheezed. “You are the worst comedian ever. What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn’t you be in bed with your fiance, tormenting her instead of me?”

The laughter died in Bill’s throat. He’d forgotten. For a precious few minutes, distracted by the absurdity of the situation, he’d actually forgotten.

“Bill?”

“Yeah. About that.” He tried to smile but it was shaky and weak. Richie was watching him, brow creased in concern. Bill couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes. “I guess she was crazy after all. She said no.”

He sat down on the couch and put his head in his hands. Until that moment it had all seemed surreal, like a dream. Saying it out loud brought it home and suddenly it was very, very real. He squeezed his eyes shut; he didn’t want to cry. After a moment, he felt the couch dip beside him and Richie’s arm around his shoulders.

“Fuck. I’m so sorry, man. You okay?” 

Bill had no idea how to answer that so he didn’t. “I didn’t want to go home. That’s why I came here. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t just come up to your door 10 minutes earlier when I actually got here, eh?”

“You’re always welcome here, Bill. Lick Dickwalker can take a hike. You’re always more important.”

Despite everything, Bill laughed. “I’m touched.” He sat back and looked at Richie. “I really am sorry to barge in on you like this.”

“What did I just say? Come here, you idiot.” Bill let Richie pull him into a hug. After a few minutes he pulled Bill down further, until they were stretched out together on the couch. Bill’s head was tucked under Richie’s chin and, okay. Maybe it wasn’t entirely unreasonable that Audra believed what she did. Still, he wasn’t inclined to move. Richie was warm and soothing and safe. “Did she give you a reason? Because I can’t think of one.”

“She said — ” he paused. He couldn’t very well say that she thought he was in love with Richie. Especially not when they were basically cuddling on his couch. “She said she knew it wouldn’t work. That we’d be okay for awhile but it wouldn’t last. And that she should have broken up with me a long time ago.”

“Well that’s fucking harsh.”

“It wasn’t as mean as I made it sound, don’t get pissed. She let me down as gently as she could.”

Richie huffed but didn’t contradict him. “I’m sorry, Billy. I really am.”

“Yeah. So am I.”

Very slowly, Richie began to stroke Bill’s hair. It was soothing, the gentle drag of fingertips against his scalp, and he let his eyes drift closed. “I really thought she was it.”

“I know. You’ll find the right one. You’re hot, you’re funny, you’re stupidly interesting and the softest heart I’ve ever known. You’re on your way from rich and famous to stupidly rich and famous. A year from now we’ll be right here and you’ll be crying because you don’t know if she loves you for you or for your fame and money.”

“Or he. Remember?”

“Right. Sorry. I’ve only known you with Audra.”

“Anyway, she thinks I’ve already found the right one.” The words slipped out without thought. Bill wasn’t used to keeping anything from Richie.

“What does that mean?” Richie’s hand had stilled and he was craning his neck trying to see Bill’s face. “She thinks you were cheating on her?”

“No, nothing like that.” Bill sat up. “It’s nothing. I should get home, you’re probably exhausted and I’m keeping you from your beauty sleep. God knows you need it, man.”

Richie wasn’t having any part of that. “No, hang on. What does that mean?”

“It doesn’t mean anything! I have to go.”

“Bill, come on, are you—wait!” Bill had gotten up and was heading for the door. Richie scrambled up off the couch and grabbed his arm. “You’re hiding something, what’s going on?”

Panicking a little, Bill wrenched his arm away. “Do you have to know every little fucking detail?”

Startled, Richie drew back. “You came here, dude. I didn't go banging on your door in the middle of the night demanding information.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” He slumped against the door. “She—she thinks I’m in love with someone else. ”

Richie folded his arms and gave Bill a quizzical look. “Are you?”

“I—I don’t—” Richie’s eyebrows went up. “No,” Bill said, as decisively as he could. “No, I—no.”

“Okay,” Richie said slowly. 

Bill wanted to tell him the whole story. That Audra thought he was in love with Richie and he while he could tell her she was wrong, he couldn’t tell her that it was impossible. He felt heavy and slow and in no way prepared for where that conversation might go. Gathering what little energy he had left, he pushed away from the door. “I really do need to go. You apparently have a big fancy Hollywood meeting in the morning.”

There was a moment when Bill thought Richie wasn’t going to let him off the hook. Then he grinned. “Damn straight.” He wrapped his arms around Bill, an embrace he returned gratefully. “You don’t have to, you know,” he murmured into Bill's hair. “You can stay here. I’ll pull out the sofa bed for you and fuck off to my own room if you want to, like be alone but not _alone_.” 

“Thanks, but no. I’m gonna go.”

Richie held him at arm’s length and looked searchingly at him. “You’ll be okay?”

“Yeah.”

Richie started to walk him out the door and Bill smiled. “Your neighbors see you walking another man out of your apartment, they’re going to start getting ideas about you.”

“Fuck ‘em, they probably already do,” he said, but let Bill go on alone. “Give me a call tomorrow, we’ll go out and get hammered and cry about our loveless existences.”

“I might do that,” Bill said. He glanced back at Richie, who leaned against the door jamb in his sweats and t shirt and tousled hair, watching him walk away with a soft smile, and his aching heart twinged in an entirely new way.

“Thanks, Richie. Love you, man.”

“Love you, Big BIll. Get the fuck out of here.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie asks a very important question.

**May 2006**

Bill had always loved looking at the stars. At least he thought he had; his memories of life before high school were fuzzy at best. It wasn’t something he ever thought much about. It was the present that was important, and the future.

There weren’t as many stars visible on the roof of Richie’s apartment building in Los Angeles as there had been from the hood of his car out in the middle of nowhere during his high school and college days, that much was obvious. But the moon was big and bright and the company couldn’t be beat. Richie was sprawled beside him on a ratty old blanket he’d pulled from a closet. Between them was an empty wine bottle that they’d finished off early enough that Bill didn’t even feel drunk anymore. He might have felt a little guilty about that — he was almost 30 and plenty old enough to know better — but this was a celebration. Richie had built up enough of a name for himself that he was about to embark on a national tour. A real tour, as a headliner. Not one of several comics on the bill, not the scattered clusters of shows he’d been doing here and there over a three or four day weekend for the last couple of years. Bill was happy for him but he wasn’t sure how he was going to cope with four solid months without his best friend.

“Gonna miss you,” he said, still staring up at the moon. From the corner of his eye he could see the brief flare of Richie’s cigarette as he inhaled, then the plume of smoke that came after.

“Aw, that’s sweet. Don’t be sad, Bill. We’ll always have tonight. The moon and the stars and me and you. If you get lonely just look up at the stars, Big Bill.”

“You are such a dick,” Bill said around his laughter. “I don’t even know why I’m friends with you.”

“Because I make you laugh,” Richie answered easily. 

“I’m not sure that’s it.”

“No, that’s definitely it.”

“Sure, fine,” Bill agreed, just to forestall an endless round of ‘yes it is, no it isn’t’ that he knew Richie would carry on until the heat death of the universe. He glanced at him, all silver in the light of the full moon, and smiled. Without even thinking about it, he said “You know I lost my virginity under a moon like this.”

Bill just had time, in the beat of silence that followed, to think that maybe he was a little drunker than he thought. 

Richie stubbed out his cigarette and sat up. He loomed over Bill, grinning hugely. “Holy shit, are you drunk enough for story time? Wait, wait. Let me get comfortable.” He shuffled around until he was stretched out on his stomach, chin resting in his hands and feet kicked up in the air. He looked like every stereotypical movie version of a lovestruck teenage girl. “Was the lucky person a girl or a guy?”

“A girl,” Bill said with a resigned sigh. “I hadn’t really gotten comfortable with the bi thing just yet. That happened in college.”

“Go on,” Richie said, his feet swaying lazily in the air.  
“Prom night. We were both seventeen. Her parents were really strict but they absolutely adored me. Probably because I was very polite and also I could speak in words with more than two syllables and that was saying a lot in our high school. We’d been dating that whole year and my hopes were high. We left prom a little early. I told her I wanted to show her my favorite constellations, and — fuck you, shut up! I was just seventeen!”

Richie had given up his preteen girl pose and was on his back howling with laughter. “’Come on, baby, let me show you the stars!’ Oh my God,” he wheezed. “You’re so romantic!”

“Well it worked because she went for it and we went out to this spot in the woods that I really did visit on clear nights, and — I swear to God Richie _shut up_ — and I spread us out a blanket on the hood of my car and…yeah.”

“Wait. On the hood of your car? What kind of car was it?”

“A Geo Tracker.”

Richie sat up, wiping the tears from his face. “Okay, you're just fucking with me now.”

Bill laughed. “Sadly I’m not.”

“Weren’t Geo Trackers those little wanna be jeep things that came in colors like neon turquoise or some shit, and were little rolling death traps, and about the size of a walnut?”

“Mine was bright yellow.” He remembered that car with equal parts fondness and mortification. It was the farthest thing from cool for a teenage boy in 1994 but it also meant he was one of the few students in his school who even had his own car. It was, he recalled with more than a little nostalgia, a strange time.

“So you took this poor girl to the prom in a bright yellow Tracker and then had sex with her on the hood? How? I mean, not to be crude or anything but the only positions that would conceivably work on the hood of a Tracker, comfortably anyway, seem a little advanced for two seventeen year old virgins.”

“It wasn’t easy but there was more room on the hood than there was inside the thing. Damn near slid off altogether a few times. Finally we figured out it was best to be sideways across the hood instead of up against the windshield.”

Richie was heaving with laughter again. Bill just watched him fondly. He really was going to miss the jerk. “What I would give to find that girl and get her side of this story. Did she break up with you immediately? She broke up with you immediately, didn’t she.” He pitched his voice up high. “’Oh Bill, you’re so sweet and adorable but really, a Tracker? I’m too young to have low back pain.’”

“Hell no,” Bill said, putting on the most self-satisfied smirk he could muster. “We stayed together four more months until we went off to different colleges. Screwed like bunnies the whole time, too. And her dad loved me. Called me ‘son’ and everything.”

“Jesus,” Richie said, still chuckling. He sat up and lit another cigarette. 

“What about you?”

“Me?” Richie half turned and gave him a wry smile. “No fun stories here. Nineteen. Got drunk at a college party and hooked up with the MVP on the soccer team — who was even more deeply closeted than me — who then proceeded to ignore me for the rest of the semester.”

“Well that sucks.”

Richie shrugged. “I guess it did. But he was actually kind of a dick so it was for the best. Last I heard he was still deeply closeted and engaged. To a woman. So good luck with that, asshole.” He frowned at his barely touched cigarette, put it out and laid back down on the blanket, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at Bill. “I wish we’d known each other in college.”

“I wasn’t even in college for very long. Dropped out after I made my first short story sale.” He grinned up to the sky. “Pissed a lot of people off when that didn’t turn out to be a complete disaster, too.” The wine and the late hour were making him drowsy. Richie was watching him with an intensity that he didn’t quite register until he spoke again. 

“Bill.”

“Hmm?”

“Do you remember the night we met? The conversation we had?”

Bill frowned, thinking back. He remembered spending hours on the phone but not any specific topics. “On the phone that night?”

“No, before that. In the house. I told you Steve thought I wanted to fuck you. And you asked if I did.” He put his hand on Bill’s stomach, fingertips just brushing the skin of his belly where his shirt had ridden up.

“And you didn’t answer,” Bill said. “I remember.” All traces of drowsiness were gone. Richie’s fingers on his skin were warm and even though they’d found themselves in positions far more outwardly intimate, electricity seemed to be surging through him. Richie leaned close enough that Bill could hear the shaky intake of breath before he responded.

“I didn’t answer because the answer was yes.” He half glared down at Bill, as if daring him to laugh.

Bill didn’t laugh. “Yeah?”

He dropped his gaze, suddenly fascinated by the buttons on Bill’s shirt. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. A big part of it was that you seemed so damn familiar but not all of it. And I shoved it down as hard as I could. You were with Audra, and you were happy with her. But now…” He took another deep breath. “You’re not.”

And there it was. He remembered that night, too. The little twinge of guilt he felt when he thought how easy it’d be for him to want Richie. How quickly and easily they came together, like they’d known each other all their lives. All the times in the past four years he’d idly wondered where he’d be had he met Richie before Audra. He’d shoved those thoughts away then, and the habit continued after he and Audra split. He’d had no thought of anything happening when he’d shown up that evening but now that it was happening it felt inevitable. As if the last four years had been nothing but a prelude to that moment in the moonlight on an LA rooftop. He raised his hand and gently traced Richie’s mouth with his fingers. “I remember that night. I remember feeling guilty at how easy I knew it would be to want you, too.” 

“You did?”

Bill nodded. He let his hand drop. ”So are you going to kiss me, or…“

“Do you want me to kiss you?” It seemed like a ridiculous question and Bill let out a surprised laugh. Richie frowned. “It’s a serious question. Or maybe what I should ask is…would you have wanted me to when you showed up at my door tonight or is this something you discovered at the bottom of a bottle of wine?”

Bill didn’t even have to consider the question. “I wouldn’t have thought of it but once you did it I’d have been really fucking glad.” Richie, much to Bill’s frustration, still looked uncertain. “That’s a yes, Trashmouth.”

“Okay, okay. Pushy bastard,” Richie said and closed the distance. Bill had long since stopped being surprised how easy all the things that might have been awkward or difficult were when they happened with Richie, but even given that he wasn’t expecting how easy it felt. Richie shifted a little until he was hovering over him, not quite letting their bodies touch. Not as much as Bill wanted, anyway.

“The fuck, Richie,” Bill muttered. “Come here.”

“Don’t want to squash you,” Richie said with a grin. 

“I’m not going to break.” Bill slid one hand into Richie’s hair, the other around his shoulders and hooked one foot around his leg. “Come _here_,” he said, pulling him down. 

“So demanding,” Richie said, grinning against Bill’s mouth.

“Problem with that?”

“Fuck no.”

Richie kissed the way he did everything he decided he wanted to do: with utter abandon. It was a little bit overwhelming in the best possible way. Bill had successfully pulled Richie down onto him but it still didn’t feel close enough. He grabbed fistfuls of Richie’s shirt and pulled it up, desperate to touch his skin. 

“Jesus,” he breathed, and sat up. He reached out with shaking hands to start unbuttoning Bill’s shirt. Bill watched him, unable to keep the smile off his face. 

“Something wrong, Rich? You’re shaking.”

“Just your imagination.”

“I don’t think so.” Bill laughed at the sad attempt at a scowl Richie tried to throw at him. “I mean, if you’re not feeling up to it tonight, we could—”

“You know when I fantasized about this you were a lot quieter. This is kind of annoying.”

“You fantasized about me?” The grin slipped as a new wave of heat rushed through him. Richie _fantasized_ about him.

Richie smirked. “Yeah, and you’re kind of ruining it. You’re supposed to be breathless and writhing and shit. Not like, talking.”

Bill struggled to sit up, not an easy feat considering Richie was straddling his thighs. He cradled Richie’s face in his hands. “No talking, huh?”

“Unless you’re moaning my name or something super porny. That’s allowed.” He shook his head, smiling almost bashfully. “I…I don’t know why. I always think of you as kind of quiet, you know? Like, a man of few words kind of shit. Even though you’re not. Not really.” Richie’s voice had gone soft and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Bill’s. “I’ve wanted this for so long.” 

“How long?”

“Since you laughed at my dumbass joke at a fancy party. Didn’t I just tell you that?”

“You told me you wanted to fuck me then, I’m not one of your gay bar hook ups.” He was teasing but there was a note of warning in his voice. Richie didn’t miss it.

“No. You really aren’t.”

“This sucks so much,” Bill said quietly. Richie jerked back.

“What?”

“No, no, not—” Bill chuckled softly and pulled him close again. “Not this.It’s just—Audra told me once that if you opened your arms I’d fall into them without a second thought. I never wanted to believe she was right, but…I think I’ve been waiting for you to do exactly that.”

“You could have opened yours. Any time.”

Bill shook his head, suddenly, inexplicably overwhelmed. There was an ache in his chest that he couldn’t quite explain. The thing was, he couldn’t have. He had no idea how to articulate why he couldn’t make the first move. He’d certainly never been shy about it with anyone else in his life. But it was the simple truth. If he’d done it, part of him would always wonder if Richie really wanted him or if he was just biding his time until something better came along. It was a grossly unfair thing to think, Bill knew that. He had no reason to think any such thing. Still, it was how he felt even if he hadn’t really realized it until that moment.

“Hey. Billy. Are you okay?” 

Bill was able to lift his head, meet Richie’s eyes, and smile. “Yeah,” he said. “We’re both idiots.”

“Speak for yourself, asshole.” Richie grinned then kissed him again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something unexpected happens during an interview.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so long, I'm sorry. This and Chapter 3 were originally one long chapter so it could have been worse. Hope you enjoy.

**August 2006**

Almost four months had passed since that night on the rooftop and Bill had decided that they really were idiots after all. Who starts a relationship with their best friend who was leaving in three days to travel the country for four months? But that’s what they’d done. Bill flew out to see him as often as he could, but he was deep into his final draft for his next book and his deadline was approaching much faster than seemed possible. He’d thought he could travel around with him for awhile and get work done while Richie was doing his show, or interviews, or whatever. As it turned out, that wasn’t the case. He didn’t tag along to the early morning radio shows Richie’s manager loved to book him on but he always laid in bed at the hotel listening instead of working. He sat in the audience every night when he visited, bursting with pride every time the crowd roared with laughter at his jokes. When Richie wasn’t doing interviews or shows they explored whatever city they were in or just hung out together in the hotel. And nights were spent showing Richie just how proud he was. Bill got very little work done when he visited Richie on tour.

Bill grabbed his bags, one heavy with his laptop, off the conveyor belt. This weekend would be different, he told himself sternly. He had three weeks to finish his final draft and get it sent off to his agent and he really needed every spare moment. He shouldn’t have come at all; Richie’s tour only had two weeks left and it seemed like a waste of time when they’d have all the time in the world together when it was over. But Richie was persuasive and Bill missed him. So he’d dragged himself onto a plane late one night and spent the four hour flight vacillating between getting some sleep or getting some work down, and ultimately not doing either. 

It was just before 6 am when he found a taxi and made his way to the hotel, exhausted and cranky. Richie was apparently due to appear on yet another morning radio show and Bill’s plan was to sneak in a nap before he got back. At least that was the plan until he arrived at the hotel, got the key Richie had left him at the front desk, and was nearly tackled the moment he opened the door by a very enthusiastic Richie.

“Bill!” he cried happily. “You're just in time!”

Bemused, Bill returned Richie’s embrace. “In time for what? Shouldn’t you be at some radio station?”

“We were just about to leave,” he replied, gesturing over his shoulder at his manager Steve, who watched them with fond exasperation. “You can come with me.”

Bill’s heart sank. He was so tired and all he wanted to do was sleep for a little while. “I never go to those things with you, Rich,” he said. “And I just got here. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“You don’t go to them because you’re usually too lazy to get out of bed but you’re awake and dressed. Come on, it’ll be fun!”

Richie looked so excited. Bill couldn’t bring himself to disappoint him. “Oh okay. Why not. That’s okay, right?” He glanced at Steve.

“Sure, if it’ll get his ass in gear, it’s fine.”

They gave him enough time to drop his bags inside the room and they were off, heading downstairs to stand around in the lobby waiting for a driver who was apparently very late indeed. While Steve made angry phone calls, Richie turned to Bill.

“It’s really good to see you,” he said. Bill’s fingers twitched to pull Richie in for a kiss, but he refrained. They’d kept their relationship quiet so far. Bill wasn’t really doing it deliberately; he had no family to tell and the small group of people he called friends didn’t communicate often enough for them to even know he was seeing anyone yet. He’d told Audra, with whom he’d managed to maintain a good relationship despite their breakup. “_What a surprise_,” she’d said with a smile that was only a little forced. Richie on the other hand, definitely was doing it deliberately. While out to his friends and his management he was deeply in the closet when it came to the public. His whole professional persona relied on him being a slightly gross stereotypical straight dude. 

“I’ve missed you,” he said instead. Richie glanced around. The lobby was largely empty at that time of morning but there were a few guests at the front desk, presumably checking out. He took a step closer and swiftly bent down and pressed his lips to Bill’s, then grinned. 

“Should do that more often,” he said.

“Richie, what the hell, man?” Steve was suddenly beside them, glaring at Richie like he’d just kicked a puppy. “You’re in public, calm the fuck down.”

Richie’s smile had dropped away and gave Steve a resentful glare as he walked away. “Go fuck yourself,” he muttered. 

“What’s going on, Rich?” Steve had never been the most easy-going person in the world, but he and Richie usually had a good working relationship. Bill was definitely sensing some tension.

Before Richie could answer, a young woman approached. Bill recognized her as part of the group that had been standing by the front desk when they came down to the lobby. “Hey, you’re Richie Tozier, right?”

“That’s me,” he said. 

“Oh this is so cool,” she said, beaming at him. “I was so upset when I heard you were doing a show here tonight, we’re leaving and I’ll have to miss it.” 

“Sorry, that sucks. It’s a great show, if I do say so myself.” Bill loved seeing Richie meet fans. It was a very weird thing, having strangers come up and start talking to you as if they know you, but Richie thrived on the attention. Already his expression had lost the edge of irritation he’d had after the exchange with Steve.

“I don’t want to bother you too much, but do you think I could get a picture with you?” She waved a little camera around. 

“Sure thing. Bill will take it for us, right?” 

“Of course.” Bill reached for the camera.

“Wait. Bill Denbrough?” 

“The one and only!” Richie smiled. “The master himself.” Bill just rolled his eyes.

“Don’t pay any attention to this idiot,” Bill said.

“Are you guys friends?”

His smile slipped a little. “Friends? Love of my life,” he said. She smiled a little uncertainly. His words were over the top but he didn’t really sound like he was joking and she was clearly confused. 

“Oh. Well, I’m a big fan of yours, too. Your last book gave me nightmares.”

“Well I shouldn’t be happy about that, but…” he grinned. “Thanks.”

“Let’s get him in here too then.” He took the camera from Bill. “Hey Stevie, make yourself useful for once and take this picture.”

Steve rolled his eyes at him but took the picture. The girl’s family was waiting so she thanked them both and left just as the car finally arrived. They piled into the back seat and a tense silence settled over them. Finally Steve couldn’t hold back anymore.

“What the hell was that about?”

Bill felt Richie tense beside him. “Fan wanted a picture, man, I’m not sure where the confusion is.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “That ‘love of my life’ bullshit. No offense,” he added with a glance at Bill. 

Richie shrugged. “She’ll just think it was a joke, don’t burst a blood vessel.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Steve frowned, and Bill thought he looked genuinely concerned. “You’ve been acting crazy for a couple of weeks now.” He glanced at Bill, so quickly that he’d have missed it if he hadn’t been looking right at him. He abruptly realized that he, if indirectly, was the source of the friction. Or at least Steve thought so. 

Richie’s jaw was clenched and if it was possible to stare aggressively out a window, that’s what he was doing. Bill wasn’t sure what was happening but he was sure that Richie was near some sort of breaking point. He quietly covered one of Richie’s hands with his own and in return Bill felt him relax, just a little. 

“I’m not acting crazy. I don’t want someone writing my material. I don’t know why that’s so hard to fucking grasp.” He turned to look at Bill. “Steve thinks that now we’re together, I’m far too gay to pretend to be straight, and that we should hire writers to write my material for me. So it’ll be more authentic.”

That explained a lot. Bill gave his hand a squeeze. “What do you think?”

“That he’s full of shit, of course.”

Steve sighed. “Rich. You have this persona —”

“Fuck my ‘persona,’” Richie snarled. 

“You already collaborate — ”

“Which is not the same thing as hiring someone else to write everything.”

“God, why the hell did I get into this business? Performers are fucking impossible. Listen, Richie. The fact is the shit you write doesn’t get the laughs that your ‘collaborators’ stuff does. If you want to keep going on the path you are now, you need writers. Or you can go back to playing half empty shitty nightclubs for free drinks like you were doing back in 98.”

The driver, who had been tactfully silent for the whole ride, cleared his throat. “Mr Tozier, we’re here.”

Richie pulled his hand from Bill’s and got out of the car, slamming the door so hard the car shook.

* * *

  
“So come on, Richie, be straight with us. You’re always talking about your girlfriend in your shows. Who is she? We’ve never seen pictures of you with her and I’m honestly curious because the woman must be a saint to put up with you!” The DJ, Deidra or Donna, Bill couldn’t remember, grinned as the other two whose names Bill had even less idea of, laughed uproariously. He’d heard enough of these shows by now that he knew the pattern. The shows they hosted were always incredibly loud and incredibly obnoxious and the hosts — usually a couple of men and a token female who usually served as the voice of reason, or at least was less of a nightmare than the men — were terribly fond of their own jokes. It was tiresome but Richie, who was smarter and funnier than all of them combined in Bill’s opinion, played along easily.

That particular line was a set up. Richie had a whole bit in his new show about how his “girlfriend” was freaked out by the attention he was getting and stayed out of sight. The producer of the show had discussed all of this with Steve and Richie and had worked out times during the conversation when the hosts would feed Richie a set up. Bill sat in the control room, chin resting in his hands, and waited. Richie had wrote this one and it really was funny, even if it was all an outright fabrication. But instead of launching straight into it, Richie paused a moment and then laughed weakly.

“Yeah, I’m a pain in the ass in myriad ways. It’s a miracle anyone can deal with me ever.”

The hosts laughed but when Richie didn’t continue, seemed a little uncertain. Deirdra/Donna, who was probably accustomed to hosts who didn’t turn out to be as lively as they expected, piped up before the dead air could get too awkward.

“I know if my husband suddenly became famous for, I don’t know, fishing or whatever it is he does all the time, and people were taking his picture and approaching him on the street, I would absolutely go into hiding.”

The other hosts laughed again and started riffing on her comment. Richie glanced over at the control room window and met Bill’s eyes and Bill knew, suddenly and with absolute certainty, what he was about to do. He sat up straight in his chair. Beside him Steve must have sensed it too. He muttered a curse under his breath.

“Yeah,” Richie said after the hosts had calmed down. “I mean, look at me. You can see why any self-respecting woman would not want to advertise her association with me. Fortunately for my girlfriend it’s not an issue as she doesn’t actually exist.”

One of the male hosts — Bill thought his name might have been Jack — laughed again. “Dude, are you saying you just made up a girlfriend for your show?”

“I did that in middle school,” the other male host said. “She was from Canada.”

“I absolutely made up a girlfriend,” Richie said. “Never had a girlfriend, actually. Ever. Unless you count the girl I went to senior prom with. Which I don’t and she probably doesn’t either since it was our first and only date and I ditched her to go smoke weed with some friends for most of the night. Also, Gina D’Angelo, if you’re listening I sincerely apologize for that.”

Richie was in full flow, Bill realized. The hosts were just sitting back and letting him go, probably expecting that he was leading up to some sort of punchline that would make the whole thing make sense. He was. Just not in the way they expected.

“So, no woman has ever been subjected to, you know. Me.” Richie glanced again at Bill as he spoke. Bill smiled, and Richie continued. “Now my boyfriend, on the other hand. He could tell stories for days about what a headache I am. I almost said ‘pain in the ass’ but this is a family show.”

Steve swore again, louder this time. Bill was too busy watching Richie to care. Anyone who didn’t know him would think he’d delivered those last few sentences with the same level of emotional turmoil one would have when reading a weather report. Bill knew better. There was no response from the show’s hosts who were sitting there with comically stunned looks on their faces. It didn’t matter because Richie was rolling now and he was far from finished.

“Saying boyfriend sounds so weird, doesn’t it? Like, we’re not teenagers and that sounds like such a teenager term. And I only met Bill about four years ago. I could say partner but that makes us sound like we own a law firm. It’s funny how a 30 year old man can say ”girlfriend“ and it doesn’t sound odd at all, though. I guess it’s something to do with the way we as a society tend to infantilize women, right?”

The male host, the one whose name definitely wasn’t Jack, finally remembered how to speak. “So, you don’t have a girlfriend, you have a boyfriend?”

“Yes,” Richie said. 

“Are…are you coming out? On our show?” asked Maybe Jack.

“Yes.”

“So…hang on. When you say Bill, do you mean that Bill who is sitting in the control room right now? Who also happens to be Bill Denbrough, best selling horror author?” 

“That’s him,” Richie said. He turned to look at Bill again, who wanted more than anything just to be able to touch him somehow. A hand on the shoulder, or even just brushing shoulders as they sat together. Anything that might help ground and calm him. Instead he could only watch, waiting for the reaction.

The hosts looked absolutely delighted. “So you just came out on our show and you kind of outed Bill Denbrough, too.”

“Oh, no. Bill has been out forever. Just, you guys don’t interview smart guys like him, only dummies like me.”

Deidra/Donna grinned. “Hey now, you apparently landed that guy. That was pretty smart. Not to be shallow or anything but he’s really hot you guys. Go look him up.”

The attention shifted from Richie to Deidra/Donna as everyone started teasing her. Bill played along, blowing her a kiss through the control room window. 

The interview seemed to go on forever. Richie had done the most unlikely thing anyone might have thought of and now they wanted all the details. He was excellent at deflecting without seeming to avoid their questions, Bill had to give him that. He’d told Bill once that one of the reasons he was reluctant to come out was that he didn’t want to be ‘Richie Tozier, Gay Comedian.’ _No community should have me as their representative_, he’d said. He seemed to be handling it well enough for the time being, though Bill could see his tension in the set of his shoulders and the tell-tale restless hands.

Beside him, Steve was quiet but frowning thunderously at his phone. Every now and then he’d furiously tap out a message on the tiny keyboard and scowl. As the interview started to wind down, Bill slipped out of the control room and went to wait by the studio door. He wanted to be the first person Richie encountered, and be as much of a buffer between Richie and the anger that radiated off Steve as he could. Richie had always insisted they had a good working relationship. The man had a temper though. If Bill could do anything to temper that, he was fully prepared to do it.

After a few minutes the studio door opened and Richie emerged, followed quickly by Steve from the control room. He brushed past him and headed straight for Bill, wearing an expression that could only be described as bewildered resignation. He pulled him close and buried his face in Bill’s hair. “Holy shit, Billy,” he muttered. “I think I just fucking tanked my career. I didn’t even make it through one whole tour.”

“I don’t think so. The tour, maybe. Your whole career? No.”

“Will you still love me if I have to spend the rest of my life working at McDonald’s?”

Bill pulled back and looked at him. “That depends,” he said. “Will you bring me fries every night? Like, the big size. I’d do a lot for free fries for life. If you can’t promise me that, I—”

Richie kissed him, full and deep, right there in front of Steve and a couple of random interns who happened to be hurrying past. 

“Proud of you,” he said when Richie finally pulled back. “So damn proud of you. Fuck anyone who has a problem with it.”

Steve chose that moment to break in. “Richie, Jesus. I think you made your point during the interview. Do you need to hold a demonstration?”

“You’re the only one complaining.” He frowned at Steve for a minute, then shook his head. “Let’s get back to the hotel,” he said, to Bill this time, and turned and walked away. Bill followed him all the way to the elevator before speaking up again.

“Aren’t we waiting for him?”

“No. If I stay here he’ll try to ”fix“ it somehow. Get the producers to set up something to pretend it was all joke, whatever. Fuck that. Let’s go back and have a few minutes peace. Okay?” Richie was almost pleading and Bill, of course, gave in.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

* * *

When they got back to the hotel room, Richie took his phone out of his pocket, which even then was buzzing with missed calls, and handed it to Bill. “Flush it down the fucking toilet,” he said and promptly flopped down on the bed.

Bill laid the phone down. “You might regret that. We’ll give it a cooling off period.”

Richie snorted. “I don’t want to hear anything anyone has to say to me.”

A pounding on the door thundered through the room. Richie groaned. “I know who that is.”

So did Bill. He opened the door and Steve barged in without so much as a hello. Bill shut the door and turned to see him standing over Richie, glowering at him.

“Well. Good fucking job. Richie. All these years man. All this time and you fuck everything up in one interview.” He started pacing in front of the bed. Richie just laid there, arms thrown over his face. “I listened to the call in part of their show on the way back. It ain’t pretty, Rich. They’re probably not letting the really nasty stuff on air but people are pissed. Calling you a fraud and bitching about being lied to.”

“Well they aren’t wrong,” Richie mumbled from under his bicep. “No more.”

Steve paused in his pacing and glowered at Richie, even though Richie couldn’t see him. “Is this funny for you, man? Years of work to get where we are and you fucked up the show, you fucked up the tour, and you probably just fucked up your whole career! Who will take you seriously? Who is going to book you when they know everything you say is bullshit, and not the good kind of comedy bullshit. Your whole fucking persona is built on being a straight frat house dude and that was your choice. Then you blew it all up. And for what? To shock people? Stir things up for fun? For love?” The last was sneered with a glance towards Bill that he was sure was meant to be withering. “Fucking dumbass.”

Bill had been setting up his laptop and trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. Blow ups between them weren’t completely uncommon and usually brief. Still, this one was getting under his skin. Richie had just done something that Bill knew took a tremendous amount of courage. And sure, it seemed like a rash, impulsive decision; Richie could definitely be impulsive. He always had been, ever since…

Time seemed to slow. For a moment, much like when he first saw Richie, he had an overwhelming image of himself as a child standing frozen inside a decaying house. Abruptly the image was gone and Bill was left with a fear that made his heart pound in his chest. He glanced around and Steve was still pacing and berating Richie, who hadn’t moved from his previous position on the bed. 

The fear gave way to a smoldering anger. Yes, Richie was impulsive but he was also smart and thoughtful. Someone could, perhaps, be forgiven for not noticing that. Richie definitely didn’t make it obvious, preferring to guard his thoughts behind flippant remarks and sarcasm. But there was no way he came out on a national radio show on a whim, and if anyone in the world besides Bill understood that, it should be Steve. He couldn’t just stand there and let him rage any longer.

“Okay,” he said, abandoning his laptop and turning his full attention on Steve. “That’s enough bullshit out of you for one day.”

He'd never had the full force of Steve’s fury directed at him until that moment. It wasn’t fun. “Stay the fuck out of this, Bill.”

“Not gonna happen. Get out of here and come back when you calm down.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are? He just threw away his whole career and you—”

“Who do I think I am?” Bill asked, incredulous. He had zero patience for this. He had zero patience for anything, with his heart still pounding and adrenaline coursing through his veins, looking for an outlet. But he refused to lose his temper. “Of the two of us, I’m the one who cares about Richie for more than how much money he can bring in. He just made a decision about his life and you’re only pissed that he didn’t clear it with you first so you could figure out the best way to make money from it. I’m also the one who was actually invited into this room.” From his peripheral vision he could see that Richie had sat up and was watching them with an expression Bill couldn’t even begin to read. “What was it you said earlier? ‘You made your point.’ So just go the hell away for awhile. Maybe try some breathing exercises. He just came out and you can either be willing to work with that or not. It’s really simple.”

“You miserable little shit. You think because you suck his dick, you can just tell him how to run his career? Was this your idea? Because I swear to God, Bill — ”

“Get the hell out of here, man.” They both turned toward Richie, surprised. “Bill’s right. This is what I’m doing. I’m not hiding. I’m not doing someone else’s material on stage anymore, not even co-writers. You can help me with that, or I’ll find someone who will. Your choice. Take all the time you need to think about it, but do it somewhere else. That’s all.”

Steve was still obviously livid, but he just shook his head. “You know what? Fine. I got you this far, Rich. Now suddenly you figured it out all on your own?”

“Do me a favor, Stevie. Cancel the rest of the shows.”

Muttering angrily to himself Steve turned and stormed out, leaving Bill and Richie in a somewhat shocked silence.

“Wow. He’s going to get me the shittiest birthday present ever this year.”

Bill laughed, surprised. “What qualifies as a shitty birthday present for Richie Tozier?”

“Socks,” Richie replied promptly.

“I got you socks for Christmas.”

Richie widened his eyes in mock horror. “Oh, well, um, I…”

“Screw you,” Bill said, climbing onto the bed and pushing Richie back into the pillows. “You loved those socks and you know it.”

“Babe,” Richie said, pityingly. 

“They had Batman on them. You loved them, you wore them all the time. Don’t play games with me, Trashmouth.”

“Well I could hardly break your heart, could I?”

In the years since they’d met, Bill had only ever found one sure way to shut Richie up and he took full advantage of it now. He leaned down and kissed him hard and, like always, it worked like a charm. When he sat up again, Richie was quiet. He slid his hands up and down Bill’s thighs, the only part of him he could comfortably reach without sitting up. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet and raw with the kind of emotion he usually loathed letting anyone see.

“What if he’s right? What if I just fucked everything up?”

“You didn’t.”

Richie grimaced. “You can’t say that, Bill. The kind of audience I have? How much of that audience can I possibly hold on to now?”

Bill covered his hands, stilling them. “You won’t lose everyone. It might be a setback but you can recover. All that bullshit about audiences liking the other writers’ stuff more than yours? That’s only because you don’t pander to them. You’ll find a new audience who appreciates you, not Slimy Richie.”

“Slimy Richie? Have you been mentally calling me Slimy Richie all this time?”

“Only for certain jokes.” He climbed off Richie’s lap and stretched out beside him. Richie curled into him, resting his head on Bill’s chest. It was a little awkward just because he was so much taller, but it was nice. 

“Thank you for defending me, by the way.” Bill could feel him smiling against his chest. He was starting to sound drowsy. Apparently the combination of getting up at 5 am and coming out to the nation on live radio was enough to make a person sleepy. As did going almost 24 hours without sleep, as he was quickly starting to realize. Bill stroked Richie’s hair and let his eyes drift shut.

“I wasn’t going to stand there and let him scream at you. What a dick.”

“My hero.” Richie’s voice was very slightly muffled against Bill’s chest and a little slurred. He was already half asleep. “I’ve always thought of you that way, you know. Knight in shining armor. Always brave and good, like — ”

Richie tensed suddenly and sat up so quickly Bill’s hand caught his glasses and nearly snapped them in half.

“Shit!” He fumbled for the glasses and handed them back. “What the hell? Richie?”

Richie was staring at him, eyes wide and confused. “I…I thought I…”

“Hey, it's okay.” Bill sat up slowly. Richie hadn’t put his glasses back on yet so Bill took them from his hand and put them back on his face. “Richie? What just happened?”

“I…I’m not sure. I think I was falling asleep and…dreaming I think? I can’t remember but it was something to do with you. I think? It all disappeared so fast. It almost felt like I remembered something.”

Bill felt like all the air had rushed out of his lungs. “I’ve had that feeling,” he said. “Like, a flash of something that feels so familiar but you just…you can’t grasp hold of it.”

Richie nodded. “Do you think maybe we really did know each other? Or at least like, encountered each other at some point? College maybe? Or even high school, on a school trip or something?”

Bill shook his head decisively. “We’d remember.”

“Yeah,” Richie said. He didn’t sound at all certain, but nodded anyway. “Yeah, you’re right. No way.” He was quiet a moment, then as if convincing himself, said “Absolutely, we’d remember. No, I…fuck I’ve had a hell of a day Billy. It’s not even 11 am and I’m stressed and exhausted and of course I’m having weirdly intense and scary dreams.”

“Scary? How?”

Richie shrugged. “Can’t remember now. Too much going on in my head, you know how little it can manage it once.” He laughed weakly. “Fuck it. Doesn’t matter. I need to sleep a little. Care to join me?”

They settled down again, Bill’s back pressed into Richie’s chest and their legs twined together. He was right. It didn’t matter. He had Richie now, who would get past this bump in the road and blossom into the comedic star he was meant to be. He himself had a career he loved that was turning into something really special. Life was pretty damn good; that was all that mattered. 

* * *

Later they would wake and deal with the fallout. The rest of the tour would be canceled. Steve’s anger would cool into sullen resentment and Richie would snap and fire him on the spot, then take it back hours later when Steve apologized to them both. Late that night, hours after they’d fallen into what they hoped would be a dreamless sleep, Bill jerked awake. His heart pounded like a frightened rabbit and, for a fleeting moment, he remembered. He remembered furiously pedaling a bike that should have been far too big for him (_but fast enough to beat the devil, once she got going_) down a street lined with dilapidated, overgrown houses, another boy clinging to him for dear life and _something_ lurching after them. Something monstrous that wanted desperately to catch them. He sat up in their bed, shaking. 

“Hi ho Silver, away,” he whispered without understanding exactly why.

“Bill?” He flinched and turned to see Richie, barely awake, looking sleepily up at him. “Y’okay?”

The dream disintegrated, leaving him shaken but with no idea why.

“Yeah. Weird dream. I’m okay.”

He settled back down into Richie’s arms and was asleep almost immediately. When he woke the next morning, he’d forgotten he’d dreamt of anything at all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill gets a phone call.

**August 2016**

Bill unlocked the door to the house he shared with Richie and felt the tension drain away the moment he stepped over the threshold. They’d been two years into their relationship before they finally dropped the charade of living in separate places and decided to buy a house together. It took two years after that to find the perfect place and it still amazed Bill that simply walking through the door could lift his spirits. The view didn’t hurt. Perched halfway up a hillside they had a spectacular view of the ocean and the glittering coastline that stretched away in either direction. It wasn’t on the beach; that was one of the few things about the place he and Richie had argued about. Richie wanted a house on the beach and although his career had recovered remarkably quickly and they’d both been quite successful, they still weren’t rich enough to get a beach house that satisfied both of them. Beach homes they could afford tended to be packed together, scant feet between each one to maximize such prime real estate. They were often beautiful, but Bill wanted a little space. He wanted a home that was a retreat from the bustle of the city. Richie just wanted the ocean. They’d compromised; their neighbors weren’t out of sight completely as Bill would have preferred but they were an acceptable distance above and below them on the hillside, and Richie got an ocean view and a pool. It was the first time Bill had truly felt at home since moving to LA and, although he’d never quite admit it, it was mostly because Richie was there.

“Rich?” he called. A glance told him Richie was not out on the deck or in the pool. He stood at the foot of the stairs and called up. “Richie! You here?”

“Bedroom!” came the somewhat muffled reply. Then a little clearer. “How’d it go?”

Bill started up the stairs. “About as I expected. They love it, except they want a different ending and they think telling me how great the first 27 chapters are will make it okay to tell me to rewrite the last four.” He reached the bedroom door and stepped inside. “So I told them — what the hell are you doing?”

Richie was sitting on the floor, halfway inside the large walk in closet. He’d pulled a box down from the top shelf, one he’d deemed unnecessary to unpack when they bought the house six years earlier and had been untouched since. It’s contents — mostly old t shirts, from the look of it — were strewn across the floor and in Richie’s lap. The rest of the room looked like a hurricane had torn through it. A couple of dresser drawers were hanging open and clothes were draped over every surface. Two bags lay opened and empty on the bed and a mountain of hangers lay piled on the floor.

“I’m packing, Bill,” Richie said with the kind of patience that suggested he found it a particularly slow-witted question. “You told them what?”

“Uh, I told them I wasn’t changing it and if they didn’t like it I’d take it to another publisher.”

“That’s the spirit, babe.” He started digging through the box again. “Stick it to the man. Fight the power. Take no prisoners. Write that depressing ending.”

“Depressing? You think you could do better?” 

Richie looked up at him then and smiled. “Obviously. But I mean, I’m the charming, funny one. Gotta leave you something. I’m generous that way.”

“You’re a dick is what you are.” He couldn’t quite hide his smile and bent down for a kiss. “Now what the hell, Richie. You’re not even going to be gone a week.”

Richie sighed. “I hate packing, man. You know that. I can’t decide what to take with me and the one thing I know I want to take with me, I can’t find. Have you seen my old Atari t-shirt?”

“You ruined that. The Spaghetti Sauce Incident, remember?”

“Not that one, the dark blue one with the colored logo.”

“No idea.” Bill watched him resume digging through the box and wondered how he could stand up on stage and tell jokes in front of thousands of people but was completely intimidated by packing a few changes of clothes. “You’re not wearing that on stage anyway. Take a couple of shirts, some jeans, and whatever you plan to wear on stage.”

“I mean that’s the thing isn’t it. You think I have a _plan_. It’s sweet but wildly misguided.” Richie stood up, dumping the pile of shirts into the floor as he did. “Even if I could find what I wanted, it’s hopeless. Everything gets wrinkled, and then I just look like a scary homeless person. I mean let’s be honest, I kind of do all the time anyway.”

“No you don’t, shut up.” He squatted down and started picking through the pile of t shirts. “It’s not that hard to fold things. How did you ever live by yourself for all those years?”

“A healthy disregard for my own physical appearance, mostly. But people actually pay attention now. I don’t want to end up on one of those websites where they show pictures of actors with headlines like ”TRASHMOUTH? MORE LIKE DUMPSTER DIVER!“

Richie flopped down on the bed and watched him. Bill pretended not to notice the little smile on his face. After ten years together, this was an exchange that was both familiar and, Bill suspected, somehow soothing when he was getting ready to test out new material. He would stress over something relatively inconsequential. This time it was his clothes. Another time it was whether he should start wearing contact lenses. Over the years Bill had started to think it was really just something Richie did, unconsciously or not, for reassurance. Bill would say _“Of course you don’t need contacts, Rich, you hate how they feel and you look so good in your glasses”_ and that somehow translated in Richie’s mind to_ “of course you’re still funny, this is your best stuff yet, your fans are going to love it.”_ Why he couldn’t just say he was nervous about his new material Bill wasn’t sure, but he was content to give Richie what he needed in whatever way he needed it. 

“I don’t know why you act like you dress so badly. You look fine like, 85 percent of the time.” He grinned at the indignant sound Richie made, then threw a pile of t shirts on his head. “Pick out what you want to take, you child, and I’ll pack it up for you.”

“You’re a great man, Bill.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going to make us some lunch while you screw around in the closet.” He left the room while Richie was still coming out from under the pile of shirts. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, his phone began to ring. 

“Hey!” Richie called after him, “that’s not fair man, I came out _years_ ago!”

Laughing, Bill didn’t think twice about the unfamiliar number displayed on his phone screen. Still smiling from his exchange with Richie, he answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Bill Denbrough? It’s Mike.”

“Mike who?” He didn’t recognize the voice and a second glance at his screen showed only a phone number and the word “Maine.”

“Mike Hanlon. From Derry.”

“From—” he broke off and hissed in pain as what felt like fire seared across his palm. He stared at the scar there, a scar he couldn’t remember getting or even more worrisome, ever having at all. A hazy memory floated up from nowhere; a dirty piece of glass cutting across his palm. Holding the hands of two others, ignoring the pain and the blood running down their fingers. His own childish voice saying “_Swear_.”

“You need to come home.” 

“Mike,” he said, remembering the quiet boy for the first time in over twenty years. “Mike Hanlon.”

“Did you hear me, Bill? You need to come home.”

“What? What are you—” Bill’s head was spinning. There were too many memories all trying to crowd their way back in all at once and as a result, only a hazy few were squeezing through. Whatever it was made his heart pound and a cold sweat break out over his skin. But he’d made an oath. He did remember that much.

“Bill,” MIke said again. “Will you come? Soon. As soon as you can. Tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Yeah.”

Mike sighed in obvious relief. “Thank God. I’ll text you the details about meeting up. And Bill—” he hesitated, and when he spoke again his voice was strained. “It’s good to talk to you again. I have to call the others. See you soon, Big Bill.”

The call went dead, and Bill stared at his phone in bewilderment. He stood in the middle of the living room, trying to process what had just happened. There was only one truly vivid memory: a piece of glass cutting into a hand that was not his own. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate despite the pounding of his heart. Mike. He could see Mike, a young boy sitting in a grassy field. A pretty girl with curly red hair. _Beverly_, he thought, the name drifting into his mind fragile as smoke. A boy, thin and gangly, with unkempt black hair and glasses. Richie.

_Richie_.

The world seemed to tilt and Bill staggered, crashing to his knees in the middle of the room. He squeezed his eyes shut and clutched at the carpet in an attempt to steady himself. Richie. His Richie, riding his bike down a leafy small town street, wearing thick glasses that made his eyes look too big for his face. Bill could see him standing in that grassy field with blood on his hands just like the others. The others, who Mike was going to call next. 

From the bedroom upstairs, Richie’s phone started to ring. 

Bill launched himself off the floor, almost knocking the coffee table over in his sprint across the room and up the stairs. He reached the door seconds after Richie answered the call.

“Sorry, man, I don’t know a—”

Silence. Richie hadn’t seen him yet and he counted to five before Richie flinched and looked in shock at his palm. 

“Shit!” he said. “No, no, I’m okay. I just—Jesus. Mikey.”

He slumped back against the headboard, eyes closed. The rest of the conversation was a series of “yeah, okay” and wordless sounds of agreement. Finally he took a deep breath. “Yeah. See you, Mikey.” He ended the call and let the phone fall to the floor.

“Richie?” 

Richie opened his eyes. They stared at each other for a minute. Suddenly he jumped up and pushed past Bill and into the bathroom. Bill followed and found Richie retching over the toilet. Bill wet a washcloth and handed it over when Richie sat back against the wall. Bill slid down to rest beside him and waited.

“Bill,” he said after wiping his mouth, “I have to cancel my shows.” His voice and his hands were shaking. Bill wanted to reach out and hold them but he was shaking just as badly. And he still couldn’t figure out why.

“My friend — ” Richie continued and broke off abruptly, then started again. “Uh. From when I was a kid, he—”

Part of Bill wanted to interject and save him from the tangle of words he was getting twisted up in. It was a laughable thought. What could he say? Besides, it was probably better for Richie if he remembered on his own. 

Richie shook his head and started again. “That was MIke, a friend — one of my friends from when I was—I promised…” He froze and his eyes widened. He turned to look at Bill and all the color drained from his face. There it is, thought Bill. “Holy shit,” he said. “Bill, you—” Bill nodded, smiling sadly. “We fucking grew up together. We were best friends.”

“I remember.” Nothing made any more sense than it had a few moments earlier but there was a certain relief in knowing that Richie remembered him. 

“Did you know? All this time?” His brows had drawn together and Bill recognized the beginnings of genuine fury on Richie’s face. He scrambled to head it off before it really got going.

“N-no! Of course I didn’t! Mike called me too. Just before he called you.”

Richie slumped back, anger gone as quickly as it had come. “How the hell is this possible, Billy? How could we not remember? ”

“I don’t know. ” He leaned his head against Richie’s shoulder and tried to coax the memory into greater clarity. It was no use. There was nothing there that he hadn’t remembered almost immediately when Mike called. An overgrown field on a hot summer day. Mike, Richie, Beverly. He knew someone else was there but there were no names and no faces, only vague impressions of others. He could see his hand slicing into another with a piece of glass, and he could hear the solemnly sworn oaths from each of them. “What do you remember?”

“Not a lot,” Richie replied with a frustrated shake of his head. “You. Mike, vaguely. And…Jesus this is fucking weird but I keep seeing Paul Bunyan.”

“Paul Bunyan? As in Pa-aul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox?”

Richie smiled weakly. “Yeah. And….Eddie.”

“Eddie,” Bill said, thoughtfully. The name conjured up the vaguest impression of a small boy with a permanently worried expression. “That’s almost familiar. I rem- member you and Mike. Doing this but not w-why.” He held up the palm to show the thin white scar. Richie looked at his own hand and its matching scar. “I remember Beverly.” Fragments of memory, so fleeting that only that morning Bill would have brushed them aside as a half remembered dream. None of them had any real connection to him or each other that he could determine. None except Richie.

“This is fucking weird.”

“Yeah. Listen, we have to make some calls. You n-need to cancel your flight, and we need to book a new one. S-something that goes out earlier, if we can.”

Richie had buried his face in his hands as Bill spoke. He was shaking and for a moment Bill thought he’d actually burst into tears. Only slightly less alarming was the realization that he was laughing.

“S-something fucking f-funny here, Trashmouth?”

“You stutter,’ Richie said. He tipped his head back against the wall and slid his fingers under his glasses to wipe at his eyes. ”I forgot about that. Stuttering Bill. Fuck.“

“Yeah,” Bill replied with a grimace. “I for-forgot too.”

“You forgot that you used to stutter? And why are you stuttering now? I’ve never heard you stutter once in the whole time I’ve known — well. Since that party.”

Bill shrugged uneasily. “Maybe forgot isn’t the right w-word. And why? Fuck if I know.” He tried to remember all the lessons, the speech therapy he must have gone through but there was nothing.

“You cut your hand,” Richie said suddenly. “You cut all our hands. With a dirty piece of glass you picked up off the ground. Jesus, how did we ever get out of that alive?” The question sent a chill down Bill’s spine. Richie kept talking. “It — was it something to do with…” he trailed off and turned wide eyes on Bill. “Georgie? Your brother. Who…went missing? You mentioned once that you’d had a younger brother. I never—I sort of filed the fact away and never thought about it. Jesus, I _knew_ Georgie. What the fuck happened to us, Billy?”

“Come on,” he said. He stood and held a hand out to pull Richie up. It wasn't like he'd forgotten Georgie; he'd told Richie about him and if the subject ever came up he remembered that Georgie had existed. But he hadn't _thought_ about Georgie in longer than he could remember. On the rare occasions he mentioned him at all there was no more depth to it for Bill than if he'd mentioned what year he was born. That wasn't something he wanted to dwell on. “Maybe we can sort it out on the way. At l-least you’ve already started packing. If you can call that packing.” He glanced at the half empty bag, then sat on the edge of the bed and took out his phone. “I’ll see what I can do about fli-ights. Is there even a hotel in D-d-derry?”

He glanced up. Richie was standing by the bed, staring blankly down at his bag. 

“Richie?”

“When did you lose your stutter?”

It seemed like the most unimportant question he could possibly ask, but at least it was one he could actually answer. “Not long after we moved. Doesn’t seem like a co-coincidence, does it?”

“No.” He finally looked at Bill. “I don’t know why though. Why do I feel like this? How did we not remember each other?”

“I think we did. S-sort of. Deep d-down.” He thought of all the times he’d half remembered something, usually something that seemed to have an edge of fear. He thought of the times he or Richie had mentioned in interviews that they were from a small town in Maine and how they never even thought to consider that it might have been the same town. 

“We don’t have to go,” Richie said suddenly. His voice was little more than a whisper. “I don’t think we should go.”

“We have to go.”

“Fuck that, no we don’t.” He came around the bed and sat down beside Bill. “Something awful is going to happen if we go.” 

Bill took his hand. “We promised. I don’t know what it means, but we did. We can’t let Mike down.” It felt ridiculous to say. Thirty minutes earlier he would have sworn he didn’t know a Mike Hanlon. Of course, thirty minutes earlier he’d also have sworn he met Richie for the first time at a party fourteen years ago. Still, he meant it. He might only barely remember Mike but the thought of not going and letting him down was unbearable.

“Bill. Please.”

“Do you remember something else?” Richie looked scared, and Bill couldn’t fault him for that because he was too. The shock was wearing off and replacing it was a bone deep fear that he had no context for at all. But above all of that was the memory of that oath he’d sworn. There was no doubt in his mind that this trip had something to do with that oath, and more importantly, that he was the one who’d gotten them all to swear. It was his hand, in that one vivid memory, that held the glass that was cutting into their flesh. Finally Richie shook his head.

“No. Not really. ”

Bill lifted Richie’s hand and pressed a kiss to the thin white scar on the palm. “We have to go. We’ll see what this is all about. We don’t have to s-stay if we don’t want to. Okay?”

Reluctantly, Richie nodded. 

“Look, we’re in this together, right? W-whatever this is, we’ll get through it together. I love you. That hasn’t changed. That won’t change.”

“No matter what?”

Bill wasn’t used to timidity from Richie and the small, almost whisper of his voice made his stomach clench in a new wave of fear. He pushed it down and gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “No matter w-what.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill & Richie arrive in Derry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled a bit with this chapter. Trying to balance my story and weave it into the official story isn't necessarily easy for a lot of reasons, and I veered off from canon as necessary. I hope you all enjoy it.

Bill shut off the ignition and took a deep breath. Before them the neon lights from the Jade of the Orient cast a red glow over the parking lot and he couldn’t help but be reminded of blood. It was a morbid thought, but he’d been strangely disposed to morbid thoughts ever since Mike called. They'd arrived in Derry shortly before sunset, rushed to take their things to the Derry Town House and then rushed back out to the restaurant. The brief drive through the town, however, had worn on them. Until then Richie had been doing what he always did when faced with an emotion he didn't want to deal with. He'd been spitting out sarcasm and jokes that were borderline offensive even for a comedian of Richie's reputation ever since they boarded the plane, but as they drove through town to the hotel and then to the restaurant he'd grown quiet and still. It was unnerving. Even in the neon glow of the restaurant, Richie looked pale and a little nauseous. Bill wished they’d had time to rest a bit at the hotel but the plane had been late and they were barely going to be on time as it was. And it probably wouldn't have mattered anyway. He took a deep breath.

“You ready for this?”

“I don’t think so.” 

“Look, if you’re going to throw up again, can you be sure and stick your head out the door or something? This car is way too expensive already to add a cleaning fee on when we return it.” Richie had insisted on renting a flashy red sports car instead of something more practical, something that didn’t make them look like they were having early onset mid life crises. 

“Funny,” he muttered. He looked at Bill and smiled weakly. “I should hire you to write for me.”

“Dick jokes aren’t really my specialty. Besides you don’t do that anymore, remember?”

His admittedly lame attempt at lightening the mood wasn’t working out so well. Richie shook his head. “Go on inside. I just…I need a second.”

“I can wait if —”

“No, really. Go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”

“O-okay.” Bill got out of the car, hesitated, then leaned back in. “Hey. Love you.”

Richie’s expression cleared a little and his smile was small but genuine. “Love you, Big Bill.” He paused, then laughed. “Jesus, that’s where that came from. We used to call you that. When we were kids. Or I did? Someone did.” 

Bill nodded. “That sounds familiar. Actually, M-mike called me that on the phone.”

“Why does Mike remember and we don’t? You don’t know the answer to that question, I know. You know you were supposed to be smarter than me, you’re really a disappointment in that regard the last few days.”

“Sorry. I’ll try harder.”

“See that you do.” His smile dropped and he took off his glasses to rub his eyes. “Go on. I’ll be there in a minute.”

* * *

The hostess was pleasant and cheerful, and if she took notice of the way Bill’s voice shook when he asked for the Hanlon party, she gave no indication. She led him through the restaurant to a semi-private dining area. A large round table dominated the room. It was set for seven, a fact that set Bill on edge even more. He could really only remember three people other than himself: Richie, Mike, and Beverly, and only Richie with any clarity at all. The others were like a dream that he could barely remember having.

“Hey!”

Bill started at the voice, and turned to see who could only be Mike Hanlon. He started to say something, tell him he looked good even though he couldn’t really remember how much better or worse Mike looked than he might have expected because he could barely remember the man at all. It was the kind of inane pleasantry that you offered up to someone you sort of knew but hadn’t seen in a long time. Mike was having none of it.

“Bill!” he said and promptly threw his arms around him, hugging him like a long lost brother. Bill squawked a little in surprise. “Hey, how you doing?”

Mike finally let go. “I didn’t know if any of you — I mean, after all this time. But of course _you_ came.”

Two opposing impulses were struggling for control of Bill’s brain. One was the instinct to shove away this apparently batshit stranger who’d attached himself to him and the other was the urge to grab him and pull him into another hug and never let go. It left him unable to do either, or do much of anything but stumble backwards and weather the onslaught of Mike’s affection. 

“An oath is an oath. Losers…” he paused, wondering where that came from. “…gotta stick together, right?”

Mike gave him a relieved smile. “Losers. You remember that! That’s good. What else do you remember?”

Bill was saved from answering that unanswerable question by the sound of another voice approaching. Both he and Mike turned to the door to see a slight man in a blue polo shirt reciting a laundry list of dietary restrictions to the perplexed hostess. He trailed off as he looked up and saw Mike and Bill. 

_Eddie_. The name floated up into his consciousness, vague impressions of a skinny boy with a worried expression trailing behind. The one Richie had remembered, who’d been the most fleeting of images for Bill.

“Holy shit,” Eddie said, and Bill thought there couldn’t be a more perfect summation of the situation. “Mike Hanlon, holy shit.” 

“Hi, Eddie. I’m so glad you could make it.”

Eddie crossed the room in a few quick strides and let Mike envelop him in the same sort of bone cracking hug he’d bestowed on Bill just a few minutes earlier. He remembered, suddenly and vividly, the day they’d met. It’d been the first week of first grade. Bill had made no friends, much to his mother’s dismay. As it turned out, a bookish boy with a stutter was a prime target for bullies and as such, was not a person any kid with a healthy sense of self-preservation wanted to be linked with. It’d been lunch time, and Bill was faced once again with sitting at a table all by himself. And then he saw Eddie, who was being shoved by a small group of bigger boys. The same ones who’d been giving Bill a hard time. He stumbled and hit the ground. His lunch went flying, much to the delight of the boys who were tormenting him. Just as he got to his feet a teacher came in, and the bigger boys dispersed, smirking. He picked up an apple, the only part of his lunch that hadn’t been flung to the far corners of the room, and sat down at an empty table. Bill gritted his teeth and walked over. 

_“Are y-you okay?”_

_The boy shrugged and pulled an inhaler from his pocket and breathed deeply of the medicine before replying. Bill recognized it because he had an aunt who had asthma. “I guess.”_

_“Those guys are jerks. They w-were making fun of m-me earlier.” There wasn’t much of a response, so Bill just kept talking. “Can I s-sit here?”_

_He shrugged again and Bill sat down. “I’m Bill.”_

_“Yeah, we’re in the same class.”_

_“Yeah, I thought so.”_

_“I’m Eddie.” Eddie began inspecting the apple and set it aside with a sigh._

_“It’s pro-obably o-okay,” Bill said. “M-maybe a little bruis-bruised.”_

_Eddie shook his head. “No way, it’s been on the ground. I can’t eat that.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Do you know how many germs there are on the floor?”_

_Bill blinked at him in surprise. “No?”_

_“A lot! My mom says I could get sick if I did something like that. Maybe even die.” He looked solemn and sure. Bill didn’t think that sounded right, not really, but he didn’t know anything about germs and Eddie seemed convinced. But that left him with nothing to eat. _

_“D-do you want half of my s-sandwich?”_

_Eddie’s eyes lit up for a moment, then just as abruptly clouded over again. “I can’t eat peanut butter. I’m lergic.”_

_“What’s lergic?”_

_“It means I might die if I ate peanut butter.”_

_“It’s not p-peanut butter,” he said, opening his Empire Strikes Back lunchbox. “It’s turkey.”_

_“Does it have cheese? I can’t eat anything dairy.”_

_“No. J-just turkey. And l-lettuce and mayo.”_

_Eddie frowned. “Mayo? Is that dairy?”_

_“Um. N-no?” Bill had no idea if mayo was dairy or even what dairy was, exactly, though he thought it had something to do with milk._

_“Okay,” he said, and Bill handed over half of the sandwich, carefully cut that morning by his mother. Eddie bit into it eagerly. “Thanks,” he said, mouth full. _

_“I have or-orange slices,” Bill said. “C-can you eat tho-those?”_

_By the time Bill and Eddie parted ways after lunch, Bill couldn’t wait for his mother to ask him if he’d made any friends that day._

* * *

“Jesus Christ. Bill Denbrough,” Eddie was saying. “Holy shit.” 

“Eddie Kasprak,” he said, and this time he grinned and returned the hug as tightly as he could.

“I’ve got some of your books, man!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie smiled, a little puzzled. “It’s so crazy that I didn’t realize who you were. I don’t really read horror but I always felt like I had to pick up your stuff. Weird, huh?”

“Yeah. Weird.”

The sound of a gong ended any further conversation.

“This meeting of the Losers Club has officially begun!” declared Richie. He was standing with two others. One was a tall, handsome man who Bill didn't recognize and the other -- his heart clenched and he lost his breath. Beverly. There was an awkward moment when no one spoke, only stared at each other. If they were feeling the same way, they were as unsettled as he was to be surrounded by faces both wholly unfamiliar and at the same time achingly, painfully familiar. _Ben_, he thought, just as he realized with horror that Richie puffing out his cheeks and indicating a big belly with his arms while mouthing “Ben!” Part of him was mortified, and part of him wanted to laugh. There was certainly nothing chubby about Ben these days.

Mike eventually broke the silence. The relief in his voice was palpable. "You guys made it. I’m so glad.”

Richie shrugged. "No problem, dude. Canceled one of the biggest shows of my career, no big deal. I always hated Las Vegas anyway." It broke the tension and soon everyone was laughing and hugging. Beverly threw her arms around Bill and squeezed him tight, rubbing his upper arms as she pulled away.

"Look at you," she said, smiling. Her voice was nearly a whisper. Then she released him and moved past him to hug Eddie. He turned to watch her go and found himself with an armful of Ben Hanscom who, while certainly not fat anymore, was still _big._

"Holy shit, Haystack. It's good to see you."  
  
Ben laughed. "Haystack. God, I forgot all about that."

"Me too."

The server came in, smiling at the scene, and asked if they wanted to see the menus. Bill looked around the room as everyone settled and sat down, overwhelmed. He still couldn’t remember much, or why they had all come, not really. But it didn’t matter. He remembered how much he loved them all, and that was enough.

* * *

“So wait, Eddie, you got married?” Richie was well on his way to drunk. Bill supposed he couldn’t be too upset about that, because he was too. He could hear trouble in his voice though, and he was just drunk enough to sit back and enjoy the show.

“Yeah, why’s that so fucking funny, dickwad?” 

“What, like, to a woman?”

“Fuck you, bro!” Eddie replied, waving a chopstick threateningly. Richie just laughed.

“Fuck you!”

“All right,” said Ben, ever the voice of reason. “What about you, Trashmouth. You married?”

“There’s no way Richie’s married!” declared Beverly. 

“No, I got married,” Richie said, and shot Bill the briefest smirk. Somehow he suppressed a smile.

Beverly was unconvinced. “Richie, I don’t believe it.”

“When?” asked Eddie, sincerely. 

“You didn’t hear this? You didn’t know I got married?”

“No!”

“No, me and your mom are very very happy right now.”

Bill knew it was coming and he still got caught with a drink in his mouth, spitting it out so fast it splashed all over his face. Richie grinned at him, delighted. “He totally fell for it!”

As the laughter died down, Richie glanced at Bill. “No, I’m not married. Might as well be though. Right Billy?” 

Bill raised his glass and Richie raised his, and they downed their drinks in unison. “That’s right, Rich.”

Stunned silence followed. Everyone in the room was looking from Bill to Richie. Everyone except Mike.

“Now I know you’re fucking with us,” said Eddie.

“Nope.”

Beverly put down her chopsticks. “Bill? You and Richie?” Bill nodded.

“You know, I would see pictures of you two together,” Mike said. “I didn’t know you were…_together_. Not at first. But you obviously knew each other. It took me awhile to realize what was going on. I wondered if you remembered.”

“Didn’t remember a damn thing,” Richie said. “We always said it felt like we’d known each other forever. But we didn’t remember until you called, Mike.”

“How long?” Ben was giving Beverly a curious look. 

“Ten years?” Bill said. “Although we met in, what, 2002?“

“You met in the 80s,” Mike said.

“No but you know what I mean.” Bill looked around. To say they were all stunned was something of an understatement. Everyone except Mike, that is. It didn’t feel disapproving, but it was strange. Richie obviously agreed.

“Look, if everyone’s going to be fucking weird about this, we’ll just go right now.”

“No,” said Ben. He held out a placating hand. “Come on man. It’s just unexpected. I always thought —” he shut his mouth abruptly and glanced guiltily at Bill. 

“Okay,” Richie said, obviously ready to change the subject. “Let’s talk about the elephant not in the room. Ben, what the fuck, man?”

And just like that everything was back on track. Aside from another blip when everyone suddenly realized that Stan was supposed to be there (and despite everything Bill was still shocked that he could have forgotten Stanley Uris), it seemed like nothing more than any gathering of great old friends. There was something else happening, though, an undercurrent that he couldn’t identify but became more pronounced when he looked at Mike. Despite the general rowdiness, Mike was relatively quiet. Bill thought he knew that this wasn’t unusual, that Mike had always been pretty quiet, but it was the look on his face that Bill couldn’t shake. He kept looking around at everyone like he couldn’t believe it was happening. It was happiness, and relief, and a strange sort of melancholy that Bill couldn’t fathom at all. 

“So, you and Richie, huh?”

Bill turned from watching Mike at Beverly’s soft words, clearly meant only for him. He glanced past her at Richie, who was engaged in a different conversation.

“That’s right.”

She smiled. “Must have been weird to realize you’d known each other as children.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“You know I think I might have come pretty close to running into you a few years back. I was in New York, getting ready for fashion week. I passed by a Barnes & Noble with your picture in the window. I almost went in. Wasn’t sure why. I wonder if I’d have remembered you.”

“Probably not. Hey, fashion week?” Bill wasn’t particularly interested in fashion, but he found himself very interested in listening to Beverly talk. She was so much like the girl he remembered. Life didn’t seem to have changed her at all. 

“Yep. Rogan Marsh has been a part of fashion week for awhile now.” 

“Rogan Marsh? Like half my ex girlfriend’s closet, Rogan Marsh? That’s huge.” He reached for one of the fortune cookies the waitress had just brought to the table. 

She smiled, a little diffidently, he thought. “That’s our line. Me and my husband Tom.”

“How long have you been married?”

Beverly changed the subject immediately, so quickly that if he hadn’t known her better, he’d have thought she didn’t hear the question. Beverly didn’t miss things, though. She reached for her own fortune cookie as she spoke and her sleeve rode up, exposing the dark bruises around her wrist. It wasn’t hard to put together. Somehow he managed not to betray the anger seeing those bruises provoked; he was even able to keep the conversation going and smile good naturedly when she agreed that the ending to his movie sucked. She wouldn't thank him for bringing up, he was sure of that. He marveled at how strong she must be to thrive despite the environment she lived in her whole life and couldn’t imagine how he’d ever forgotten her. 

“What?” 

He realized he’d been staring and shot a quick look at Richie, who wasn’t paying them any attention. “Nothing. This is weird. Just, all this. All these memories. People that I don’t even remember forgetting.”

“I mean it’s weird, right?” said Ben, and Bill turned. He hadn’t been aware their conversation could be heard on the other side of the table. Richie must have heard them, too, and he felt a stab of guilt even though they hadn’t said anything he’d have been afraid for anyone else to hear. It was the feelings he had that worried him, and the knowledge that Richie could read him like a book. 

“Now that we’re all here,” Ben was saying,“ everything comes back faster and faster. All of it.”

“Yeah,” said Richie. “You know when Mike called me I threw up. Isn’t that weird? I got like, nervous,” he glanced at Bill as if he needed confirmation. “I got like, sick and I threw up. I feel fine now. I feel very relieved to be here with you guys.” He glanced around. “Why is everyone looking at me like that?”

“When Mike called me I crashed my car,” said Eddie. The tone in the room abruptly shifted.

“My heart was literally pounding right out of my chest,” Ben said. He almost looked relieved to know he wasn’t the only one, and so did Beverly.

“I thought it was only me,” she said. 

“It was like pure f-f-” The word wouldn’t come and the almost forgotten frustration washed over him again.

“Fear,” Mike said. “It was fear, what you felt.”

“Why did we all feel like that? You remember something we don’t, don’t you Mike?”

“Something happens to you when you leave this town. The farther away, the hazier it all gets. But me? I never left. So yeah. I remember. I remember all of it.”

It didn’t make any sense. People didn’t just forget their entire childhood just because they moved to a different town. But he had. However much he wanted to deny it. He looked around at his friends and remembered things he hadn’t in years. Like the way it took Ben weeks to stop looking surprised when they sought out his company, and the mini pharmacy Eddie had with him everywhere he went. He remembered the notebook full of bird sightings Stanley often carried around, and helping Mike with his chores on his father’s farm. He remembered the way Beverly’s hair glowed in the sunlight. And he remembered Richie. So little was clear but Richie was vivid in his memory.

The room had fallen silent. Memories of sunshine and swimming in the quarry and outrunning bullies was gone, replaced by cold darkness and fear and — 

“Pennywise,” whispered Beverly. The name made Bill’s blood run cold. 

“The fucking clown,” Eddie said. His breathing had gone raspy. There was an undercurrent of panic in the air, not quite realized but ready to explode with the slightest provocation. Mike, either unable to read the room or not caring to, was talking about echoes and pain and murdered people. Murdered _children_. Children like Georgie.

“We made an oath,” Mike said. “That’s why I brought you back. That’s why you’re here. To finish It. For good.”

“Well that shit got dark fast. Thanks Mike.” Richie was retreating into the best defense mechanism he had, sarcasm and humor. Bill remembered, suddenly, that he’d done the same thing when they were kids. He’d never admitted that he’d seen anything. He’d told them his fear was clown and it’d seemed genuine enough. It was only now, looking back with the eyes of an adult, that he really understood how scared Richie had been that whole summer. It seemed so obvious now. Bill wondered just what had happened to him and why, when they’d all had their darkest fears put on display for all to see, Richie had never shared whatever must have happened to him.

“My fortune cookie just says ‘could,’” said Eddie. Bill had forgotten he was even holding a fortune cookie. He cracked it open and read the crumpled paper. "_Not." _ Immediately Richie opened his.

“They don’t know how to do fortune cookies here. Mine just says ‘guess.’”

“You wanna throw that over here?” Bill gathered up all the words. Ben had "cut" and he flinched when he saw that Mike's fortune said "it." He spread them out on the table, trying to arrange them into something coherent. It kept the fear at bay, having a puzzle to solve. He could focus on the task at hand and not on the fear churning in his gut, or on the growing panic in Richie’s voice as he hurled ridiculous accusations at Mike. At least, it did until Beverly showed them her fortune.

_Stanley_.

Slowly, reluctantly, Bill slid the words around into what was the obvious intended order. _Guess. Stanley. Could. Not. Cut. It. _Eddie almost immediately began demanding answers, as if anyone had answers to give. Bill glanced up at Richie. He was staring at Eddie, brow furrowed. There was more worry there than fear and something stirred in his memory, something that slipped out of his grasp if he thought too hard about it. And a moment later it didn’t matter when everything dissolved into a nightmare of chaos and fear. 

He knew it wasn’t real. He remembered the tricks Pennywise would play. He’d made him believe he saw Georgie in the basement. He and Richie had seen a fake Eddie in the house on Niebolt Street. Those memories came back, fully formed and visceral, and instead of assuring him that the monsters hatching out of the fortune cookies weren’t real it only served to terrify him more. _That’s what It wants_, he told himself. _It wants you to be afraid. It wants your blood but it wants to hurt you first_. Richie called out to Eddie and he thought he heard a laugh, shrill and strangely gleeful. It was so quick he wasn’t sure it was real, and whatever he might have heard was lost in the sound of Mike screaming and pounding at the creatures on the table with his chair.

The server hurried in, alarmed, and it was all gone. The thing flapping around and attacking him, the slithering eyeball, the sizzling slime pouring across the table, the decaying heads in the aquarium, all of it gone in the blink of an eye.

Somehow they managed to make it out of the restaurant without being arrested for anything, even when their flight was interrupted by Richie screaming at some poor kid who was just a fan who probably couldn't believe that Famous Comedian Richie Tozier was in Derry, of all places. But they settled their check and between the six of them left a _very_ generous tip for the understandably wary server, then spilled out into the parking lot. Beverly was already dialing Stan’s number. While the phone rang he and Ben drifted closer to her while Eddie paced and Richie lashed out at Mike.

Bill watched Beverly, still clinging to the one hope he had. It wasn’t real. The creatures in the fortune cookies weren’t real, the heads in the aquarium weren’t real. Pennywise loved his tricks. Stan was going to answer the phone and tell them his flight had been delayed or even that he wished them well but had no intention of returning, like Richie had wanted to do. It was all okay. Stanley was _fine_.

Except it was a woman who answered Stan’s phone. “He passed,” she said. “It was awful, the way he died. His wrists. In the bathtub.” 

The news settled over them like a storm cloud. Beverly ended the call and immediately started searching for a cigarette.

“Stanley,” Eddie said. “Pennywise knew. He knew before we did.”

Mike had the look of a man who could see all his carefully laid plans coming unraveled; Bill was finding it hard to have much sympathy. “We have to stop him,” he said. “I have a plan.”

He might be in denial of what was happening but Bill wasn’t. He gave Ben’s shoulder a sympathetic squeeze as he made his way to the outer edge of the group. The very real grief he was feeling for a person he hadn’t remembered even existed a day before was threatening to overwhelm him. He needed to get some space, some time to collect his thoughts. _You’ve had 27 years. Time’s up, Billy_, whispered Georgie’s voice in his head. 

“I got a plan! Get the fuck out of Dodge before this ends worse than one of Bill’s books. Who’s with me?”

Those words shouldn’t have stung. It wasn’t an uncommon way for Richie to tease him, after all, and Bill knew there was no malice in it. Everything felt different though, darker and scarier and meaner. And he knew without even looking around, without even needing to hear any more of the conversation that Eddie was sticking with him. It had always been that way, he realized. They’d always bickered, they’d always driven each other crazy, but when it came down to it Richie and Eddie had always clung first to each other. Deep inside, Bill felt the first flicker of a different kind of fear.

“Bill!”

He turned. He’d been so lost in his thoughts that he’d barely followed what was happening behind him. Richie was halfway to their car, Eddie just a few feet beyond him beside what Bill assumed was his car. Waiting. 

“Bill. Are you coming?”

Everyone was watching him. He’d always been the leader. The one who dragged them into the sewers in search of a little boy whose death he couldn’t accept. The one who rallied them all to go after Beverly. Now they were waiting, even if they didn’t know it, for him to pull them together again. He looked around at them, at the various degrees of fear and indecision and in Mike’s case desperate hope, and rejected it all. He turned away and stared off into the darkness, feeling as if he’d just failed some sort of test. He started to shuffle away just to put some more distance between them when he felt a familiar hand on his arm.

“Hey. The fuck you think you’re going?”

He looked up at Richie, who frowned back down at him. Anyone who didn't know better would mistake that expression for anger; Bill knew better. Richie was scared. More scared than Bill had ever seen him. Or, maybe not. Maybe he had seen him this scared before, a long time ago. He shook his head. “I’m s-sorry, Richie.”

“Sorry for what? Come on, we’re getting the fuck out of here.”

“I can’t.”

Richie closed his eyes. “Don’t do this Bill, don’t try to be a god damned hero. This isn’t one of your books.”

“I got you all into this.”

“Don’t,” he replied, shaking his head impatiently. “You said we could leave if we wanted. That’s what you said.”

“Richie, are you coming or not?!” Eddie was still standing by his car, fidgeting nervously. Mike seemed to be pleading with him to stay.

“Yeah!” he called over his shoulder. He turned back to Bill. “I’ll go back and get our stuff. You wanna stay here and talk some sense into Mike, okay.” He reached into Bill’s jacket pocket and retrieved the car keys. “I’ll get our stuff and come by and get you if you won't come with me now. We’re going.” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “Something terrible is going to happen if we stay.”

“Something terrible has already happened. We need to stay.”

Richie glanced back at Eddie. “No we don’t. I’ll call you in a few.” Without giving Bill a chance to say anything more he turned and jogged back to the car. He clapped Eddie on the shoulder and they got in and drove away. That seemed to break the others’ paralysis. Beverly and Ben followed suit, leaving Mike floundering in the middle of the parking lot. He turned to Bill, frantic with desperation.

“Bill. Please, man. I’m begging you, please. Just listen to me, please.”

Maybe Richie was right. Maybe he should go. What was the point? The only thing that had saved them before was the power they had as a group. He knew it then, even if he didn’t understand it. If the group was gone, there was no hope at all. “What are you gonna say? What could you possibly say that could make any kind of difference? They’re all gone.” Mike, of all people, should understand what that meant.

“Let me show you something,” Mike pleaded. “One thing, and if you want to leave you can leave. Just let me show you this first. Please.”

Bill looked at Mike, really looked at him for the first time. Mike had stayed. He’d spent his entire life in a shitty little town full of narrow minded assholes who hated people like Mike. He knew they’d forgotten all about what happened when they were kids. He knew his friends had forgotten he’d existed. They’d all gone on to lead successful lives, unburdened by the conscious memory of what they’d lived through. Only Mike had stayed, and remembered, and kept the promise that Bill had made them all make. The least he could do was give him this one last thing.

He nodded and Mike nearly wept with relief. “Come on,” he said, “ my car’s over here. Let’s go back to my place.”

Bill followed, only half listening to Mike’s nervous chatter. He was going on about the research he’d been doing and he didn’t even try to make any sense of it. He watched the town flash by in the darkness, fragments of memories floating up whenever he saw a landmark he might remember, then vanishing again as he tried to catch hold of them. Mike pulled up in front of the library and hopped out, calling “Here we go!” over his shoulder. Bill got out and took in the ominously dark library.

Richie’s words came back to him then, quiet and urgent and terrified. _Something terrible is going to happen if we stay. _

“Bill?”

Richie was right. He knew it as surely as he knew his own name. There was nothing they could do here. He’d hear Mike out and then he’d go back to the hotel. He and Richie would be back on a flight to LA by morning. Decision made, he followed Mike into the darkness of the library. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been awhile. I had a computer issue and when it was over, literally everything was perfectly fine except this story. I had 20k words, at least, already written for future chapters. All gone. That crushed my will to continue for awhile, but I decided to do my best to redo it. We'll see how that goes.

Bill had never spent a lot of time in the library as a kid despite being a voracious reader. When he thought about it, it seemed like a strange thing for a professional writer to say. Writers were supposed to champion libraries. And he did. He’d used the library a lot, he just didn’t linger in there like Ben always had. Bill had always preferred to read under the shade of a tree or in a hammock in his back yard. Still, walking back into the Derry Public Library after being away for more then twenty years provoked a wave of nostalgia that threatened to overwhelm him. And unlike many of the other things he’d rediscovered since arriving in Derry, most of the memories there were good.

“Wow,” he said. “Did this place get smaller?”

“I guess it must seem that way after so many years away,” Mike said. “It’s actually a decent size for a town like Derry. Come on,” he said.

Bill tore his gaze away from an exhibit of Native American artifacts which was almost definitely not there when he was a kid and saw MIke disappearing around a corner. Good memories or not, he didn’t relish being alone in a dark, empty library. Not after what happened at the restaurant.

“Hey, Mikey. Hang on, where are we going??”

Mike didn’t answer. Bill rounded the corner just in time to see him start up a staircase. He’d always wanted to go up there and look around as a kid but there had always been too many people around to get away with it. He followed Mike up the stairs and into a large attic room that he took at first for some sort of storage. The further he went, though, he realized it was more than that.

“Mike, you live here?”

“Yeah,” Mike said, casually. As if it wasn’t strange to live in the attic of a library. “Make yourself at home. You want some water?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Bill looked around, growing more concerned by the second. The place could maybe have been made into a decent living space, but what he saw around him didn’t qualify at all. There was the most rudimentary of kitchens along one wall, and a bed against another. Everything else looked like the lair of a madman. Books were piled on every surface. Newspaper articles, all of them about murdered or missing people, were hung up on the walls and scattered over the table. Strange photographs, some of them clearly of Derry in another century, some of them of things Bill couldn’t even identify, were strewn everywhere. It was unsettling. Despite what had happened at the restaurant, Bill was starting to question Mike’s stability. After all, none of what happened needed to be untrue for Mike to become dangerously obsessed. He accepted the water Mike offered and took a polite sip, then immediately regretted it. It had a strange, bitter taste and he set the glass down, wondering if all the tap water in Derry was that bad or if Mike should have his plumbing checked.

“Memory is the key to everything,” Mike was saying. Bill had no patience for anything Mike was saying. Everyone was on their way out of town and Richie was waiting. Even if he stayed, there was nothing he and Mike could do alone.

“Look, if It really wants us back here, don’t you think the smartest thing we could do would be to get the hell out of Derry?”

“No, it does! Of course it does! It doesn’t know that I know what I know!”

Bill shook his head, trying to follow. “What do you know?”

“How to kill the shit out of It!” Bill stared at him, trying to keep up. Mike was ranting and Bill thought he should be alarmed or at least try to do something to calm him down. Something seemed off, though. He felt a little dizzy and strange, as if the ground beneath his feet wasn’t the solid wood of the floor but something more malleable and unsteady. Then Mike was shoving something into his hands. A vessel of some sort, with images that seemed to move carved into its sides.

“Whoa. What am I looking at, Mike?”

“An artifact. Early 18th century Shokopiwah.”

“How’d you get it?”

“I found it in the…no, they gave it to me. I stole it,” Mike said at last. Bill looked up at him, blinking in confusion.

“You stole it? From Native Americans?” He could hear the way his voice was starting to slur and he dropped the vessel. Mike was talking, something about the Shokopiwah, but Bill was having trouble focusing. The air seemed to shimmer and tremble all around him and he was starting to sweat.

“I knew that one day I would have to make you all see,” Mike said.

Bill’s gaze happened to fall on the glass of water and suddenly it all made sense. “Did you put something in my drink?”

“It’s a root,” Mike said. He looked a little guilty. 

“You drugged me? Why would you do that?” 

“I need you to look,” Mike said, and held the vessel up so that Bill couldn’t help but look. Suddenly he wasn’t in Mike’s attic room anymore. He was someplace else, some time else, watching a meteor crash into the earth and rise again as three spinning white lights. _Deadlights_, he thought, and he didn’t know that word or what it meant but the terror it provoked brought him to his knees. He saw It, changing shape, devouring everything in It’s path. In some distant part of his mind he knew he was on the floor in Mike’s room, screaming, but all he could see was the trio of spinning lights and strange figures all around, chanting something he couldn't understand. And then, as soon as it began, it stopped.

“It’s over,” Mike said. He hovered above him, one placating hand extended towards him. “You’re okay.” He hesitated only briefly. “Did you see it? The ritual?”

“The Ritual of Chud,” Bill said, and he didn’t really know what that meant either but he knew it was important. Mike smiled.

“I knew you would, I knew you’d see it!” Mike seemed overjoyed. Bill wished he could feel anything but fear.

“I saw the whole fucking thing, MIke.”

“That’s how we kill It.”

Bill slumped back against a pile of books, trying to catch his breath. He’d somehow bitten his lip and he tasted his own blood in his mouth. Bill looked back up at Mike. “How are we going to do it? Everybody already s-said no. Richie is waiting to leave as soon as I get back to the Town House. I think he might actually leave me here if I try to make him stay.”

“With you they’ll listen,” Mike said. Bill wasn’t so sure. They weren’t 13 anymore. Selling them all on the power of the group wasn’t going to work like it did then. They were older, more cynical, more scared. He reached up to poke gingerly at his bitten lip when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He fumbled it out and glanced at the screen. It was Richie.

“Hey Rich.”

_“Are you still at the restaurant?”_

“No, I’m at the library. At Mike’s place.”

_“At the…never mind. We’re all ready to go, we’re just waiting on you. I’ll come and get you.”_

Bill frowned. “No, stay there. Mike will give me a ride back,” he said. He glanced up at Mike, who nodded. “Just give me a few minutes.”

_“Hurry.”_

"I will, Rich, just don't--" Richie had already disconnected the call. "Shit."

Mike held out a hand to help him up. “Everything okay?”

He climbed to his feet, shaking his head. “Not really. Let’s go.”

* * *

Bill spent the entire ride back to the Town House trying to think of a way to convince the others to stay. As it turned out, he didn’t have to. Beverly did most of his work for him.

“I’ve watched every single one of us…” she was saying as they walked in.

“You’ve s-seen every single one of us w-what?” She was crying, and something in him ached at the sight.

“The place Stanley wound up,” she said. “That’s how we end.”

“Okay, how come the rest of us aren’t seeing that shit? What makes her so different?” 

Bill jumped up, torn between going to comfort Richie and staying there to comfort Beverly. He wound up pacing awkwardly at the end of the room.

“The Deadlights,” Mike said, and the same cold terror he’d felt in the vision gripped him again. It was clearer this time, though, and came with a memory that was only his own. Beverly, floating just out of reach, her eyes an unseeing milky white.

“She was the only one of us that got c-caught in the Deadlights that d-day,” he said.

“We were all touched by it. Changed,” Mike said. “Deep down, like an infection. Or a virus. A virus,” he said, turning to Eddie as if Eddie was going to be on board once he’d called it a virus. “You understand. Slowly growing.” Eddie shook him off and crossed the room. “That virus, it’s been growing for 27 years. This whole time, metastasizing! It just got to Stan first because —”

“Because he was the weakest,” said Richie. Bill spun around, startled.

“Jesus Christ Rich,” he muttered. 

“I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking, man,” Richie said. Bill shook his head. Richie ignored him and headed for the bar. Nothing about this was going the way it should. Mike had waited too long to have them all in one place, he was in too deep to understand how this all looked to everyone else. Bill wished he would just stop talking for a minute, let everyone take a breath. Of course, he didn’t.

“What Beverly sees, it will come to pass. Unless we stop it.”

“How the hell are we supposed to do that?” asked Eddie.

“The Ritual of Chud,” said Mike, and Bill almost groaned out loud while Mike explained. He knew exactly how Richie, at least would react to this.

“A tribal ritual?” Richie said. He was actually laughing. “Are you fucking kidding me, man? Alright, there’s gotta be another way. This thing comes back, what, every 27 years? Let’s kick the can down the road and do it then!”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “We’ll be 70 years old, asshole,” he said. Richie just stared at him and Bill felt that strange flicker in his belly again. He didn’t want to call it jealousy; but something about the way Richie and Eddie had fallen into their old patterns made him uneasy. 

“It doesn’t work that way,” Beverly said, and Bill put a comforting arm around her shoulder. “None of us make it another 20 years.”

“So,” Ben said, and Bill was almost startled to hear his voice. He’d been silent the whole time. That was Ben though, Bill thought fondly. He never spoke unless he actually had something to say. “If we don’t beat it this cycle, then…”

“We die,” Bill finished for him.

“Horribly,” Eddie added.

“Yeah I didn’t need the horribly part,” grumbled Richie.

“I didn’t say it!” Eddie snapped. “She said it. Not me.” 

Uneasily Bill stood again. “All right, guys, I’ve seen w-w-what he’s talking about and it’s all true.” He could feel Richie staring at him and he turned to meet his eyes. He had to make Richie understand. “It’s the only way. If we want this ritual to work — ”

“We have to remember,” Mike said.

Richie sounded frustrated and exhausted when he turned to Mike. “Remember what?” he asked.

“It’s better if I show you.” Mike looked around and shook his head. “We don’t have much time, but I think we could all do with a little bit of rest. We should really wait for daylight anyway. How about we just try to rest for awhile and meet back up in the morning? We should get started by dawn.”

Mike said his goodbyes and left. Nothing much was said after that. Richie handed his and Bill’s bags off to Bill. “I’m going to help Eddie haul all his shit up to his room,” he said. Bill nodded and watched him grab one of the many suitcases Eddie had brought down and start dragging it up the stairs. Bill waited for Ben and Beverly and started up the stairs behind them. The room he shared with Richie was at the end of the hall. He could hear Richie’s voice from the partially open door of Eddie’s room as he passed.

_“…the fuck did you do, man, bring your entire wardrobe? How long were you planning on staying, anyway?”_

_“Screw you asshole, don’t get pissed at me because I know how to be prepared!”_

Bill smiled and continued down the hall to their room and started to get them settled in. There was something so right about hearing Richie and Eddie bickering. It was just how they were together back then. Richie and Eddie were like an old married couple and no one batted an eye at it. Except Stan had commented on it once. They’d been at Stan’s house, listening to music and reading comics, just like any other day, when Stan put down his comic and gave Bill a piercing look.

_“Do you think Richie likes Eddie?”_

The question had seemed ludicrous to Bill. Of course they liked each other, they were best friends. All seven of them were best friends. Stanley had just shaken his head. _“No, I mean, like him. Like you like Bev.”_

It wasn’t the sort of question you asked about your friends, not in Derry in 1989. Bill remembered shrugging. _“What if they do?”_ he’d asked, and Stanley had nodded. There wasn’t really an answer. Not in that place and in that time, certainly not one a thirteen year old Bill Denbrough could give. No one talked about that sort of thing in Derry, not unless you were someone like Henry Bowers who made it a reason to make you a target. He knew it wasn’t right; it shouldn't matter if Richie liked Eddie. But it had seemed like an immutable fact of life then. They’d moved on to other topics and as far as Bill could remember it had never come up again. But he noticed it after that. The way Richie always hovered around Eddie, how protective he was. The way he’d grin whenever he could make Eddie laugh. By the time Bill’s family moved away, he was convinced that Richie was as besotted with Eddie as he’d once been with Beverly.

Shaking his head, he dropped their bags at the foot of the bed and went into the bathroom. That had been a long time ago. Just like his crush on Beverly had been a long time ago. There were real things to worry about. He washed his hands and tried to put it out of his mind.

“_Billy_.”

Bill froze. He hadn’t heard that voice in over 27 years, but he recognized it as easily as if it had been yesterday. Slowly he turned and there, standing in the middle of the tiny bathroom, was Georgie. He was dressed in his yellow raincoat. In his left hand he held the paper sailboat, SS Georgie written on it in Bill’s own childish hand. His right arm was gone, and blood poured from the ragged stump, soaking the right side of his body and pooling on the floor around his rain boots. His eyes were full of tears. “_Billy_,” he said again, though his voice sounded distant and tinny and his mouth didn’t move. He took one shuffling step forward and that broke Bill’s paralysis. He scrambled backwards, crashing into the bathroom door and inadvertently slamming it shut. Georgie took another step. Bill, back pressed against the door, turned the doorknob but realized there was no way to open it without stepping further into the room, right into Georgie. 

“Bill? You okay? I thought I heard something.” Richie was on the other side of the bathroom door. 

_“Are you okay, Billy?_” asked Georgie, mocking. Bill whimpered and pressed his back further into the door but this time there was an answering pressure.

“Let me in, Bill. The fuck, babe, are you leaning against —” Richie grunted and Bill felt the door push in, pushing him forward towards Georgie. He tried to brace himself but his foot slipped in the blood that had crept across the floor and he went down, crashing to the floor on top of his dead brother who just looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes.

“Bill!” Richie’s hands were on him, dragging him to his feet. He was covered in Georgie’s blood and it was getting all over Richie, too. Richie steered him to the bed and sat him down. “Hey, come on babe, what’s happening?” As he spoke, he reached up to adjust his glasses and left a streak of blood on his cheek.

Bill’s stomach sank. Richie couldn’t see it. He looked down at himself, clothes stained dark with blood. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to rein in the tears that he only just realized were streaming down his cheeks, and slow his rapid, panicked breathing. The bed dipped down beside him and he felt Richie’s arms around him, the press of lips against his temple. 

Once he’d gotten himself under control, he opened his eyes. His clothes were clean and dry, and there was no blood on Richie’s face. He wiped at his tears on his face with a shaky hand.

“What did you see?” asked Richie softly. Bill shook his head, but Richie wasn’t having any of that. “You can tell me.”

“G-g-georgie.” 

Richie nodded and stood, slowly approaching the bathroom door. He turned back to Bill. “Is he still there? Is it like the blood in Bev’s bathroom that time?”

Bill didn’t think it was; the blood on his clothes was already gone. Still, he had to see. The few steps across the room felt like miles, but when he reached the door, there was nothing. Just the bare white tile and a towel that he’d dropped on the floor. “No. L-like the re-restaurant tonight. Gone.”

“Okay.” Richie shut the bathroom door. “Are you okay?” 

“As okay as I think I’m g-going to be,” he said. 

“Come on,” he said. Richie slid his hands under Bill's jacket and eased it off, draping it with his own on the chair. “Do you think you can sleep?”

Bill almost laughed. He was so tired already, but he knew there was no chance of sleep after that. “No, but w-we should try.”

They toed off their shoes and climbed onto the bed. Changing didn’t seem worth the effort considering they’d be up again in a couple of hours. Bill didn’t miss that Richie made sure he was on the side of the bed nearest the bathroom; he wouldn’t have thought he needed that barrier but he was grateful for it anyway. He leaned back into Richie, pressing as close as he could. He’d forgotten how quiet a small town could be at night and it wasn’t doing his nerves any favors. 

“What were you and Eddie t-talking about for so long?” he asked, just to break the silence.

“Hm? Oh, nothing really.” Richie’s voice was quiet and raspy, the way it was when he was very tired. “He already has a framed picture of his wife sitting on his nightstand.”

Bill chuckled quietly. “Well that’s s-sweet, don’t you think? Don’t you carry around ph-photos of me when you go on tour?”

“Of course. I pin them up all over the hotel rooms, my dressing room, everywhere. Just so I can see your face no matter where I look.”

“Aw.”

“Next tour I’m adding a big screen to my stage set. I’ll set up a slideshow of pictures of you so that even while I’m performing I can admire you constantly.”

“S-sounds like a great idea,” Bill said, smiling into the darkness. Even in the madness of that night, Richie could always make him feel better. “Can you add the name of my l-latest book to the slideshow pictures?”

He felt Richie huff a laugh in response, then the warm press of his lips against his neck. “Anything for you, Bill.”

They settled into the quiet then. Bill still wasn’t in any danger of sleeping but at least he felt calmer. He thought Richie might have actually drifted off until he spoke again. “It’s funny. Eddie’s wife? Looks just like his mom.”

“Seriously?” He rolled onto his back, squinting up at Richie in the darkness. 

“Yeah. It’s unnerving. Like those movies where someone meets a long lost cousin played by the same actor with a wig? I actually thought for a second he was carrying around a picture of him and his mother.”

They both dissolved into quiet laughter and Bill could feel some of the tension draining away. Richie’s hand had drifted under the hem of his t-shirt and was caressing the smooth skin there. “You had such a crush on him back then,” Bill said. Richie’s hand stopped moving.

“What? No, I didn’t.”

“Rich. You did. I wasn’t the only one who noticed. When I moved away I sort of assumed something was about to happen with the two of you.”

Richie pulled away and sat up on the bed. “I was a mess. And I didn’t have a crush on Eddie back then.”

Bill wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t expected Richie to deny it and later he would blame that surprise, combined with stress and the sliver of insecurity that had started to worm its way into his mind, for what he said next. “Do you still have a crush on Eddie?”

“I’m sorry, what the fuck? Do you still have a crush on Beverly?” 

The question shouldn’t have felt like a blow to the stomach, but it did. He thought of Beverly, how he hadn’t been able to stop watching her, how he’d been drawn to her side after coming back from Mike’s. He sat up, shaking his head. “Okay, this is stupid,” he said, scrambling to pull the conversation back before it spiraled into something ugly. “I sh-shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry.” He reached out for Richie’s hand. “It was a stupid thing for m-me to suggest. I don’t know why I said it.”

Richie slumped back onto the bed, pulling Bill down with him. “I’m sorry too,” he said. “It’s this place. This fucking town.”

"It seeps in, doesn't it?" Bill stroked the palm of Richie's hand absently, deep in thought. Richie interrupted his thoughts with a kiss, sliding his hand into Bill’s hair and rolling closer. It would be so easy, Bill thought, to push a little, turn it into more than a kiss. He could pull Richie all the way over, slide his hands under his shirt to stroke the skin of his back. But just outside their hotel window, his hometown sprawled out all around them. If there was one thing that Bill knew, it was that Derry watched, and remembered. He would not give it any part of what they had between them. So when Richie moved to get closer, deepening the kiss, Bill reluctantly broke away.

“Not here,” he whispered. “Not in Derry.”

Richie lowered his forehead to rest against Bill’s. There was no need for an explanation. “No,” he agreed. “Not in Derry.” He shifted a little and Bill found himself tucked under Richie’s chin. They lay quietly together until the sky began to brighten, and neither of them slept at all.


End file.
